


Ad Infinitum

by Tokyo_the_Glaive



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking, Evil Snoke, F/M, Force Visions, Gore, Hate Sex, Hux is Not Nice, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, M/M, Mental Anguish, Minor Character Death, Misuse of the Force, Murderous Fantasies, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Soulmates, The Dark Side of the Force, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-05-29 16:58:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 46,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6384793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokyo_the_Glaive/pseuds/Tokyo_the_Glaive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux and Ren were not soulmates.</p><p>(But just once, they came close.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The World As We Know It

**Author's Note:**

> I have no one to blame for this but myself, and possibly hollycomb. I really ought to be writing my thesis, but you know, evil space fascists need to get together.

It’s often said that soulmates always meet--that in every universe, in every variation of every timeline that has ever and will ever come to pass, two souls destined for one another collide.  These collisions can be romantic or platonic, constructive or destructive, but they are inevitable and life-altering.

Ben Solo (sometimes Kylo Ren) and Brendol Hux, Jr. were not soulmates.

* * *

There have been many lifetimes in which they never met at all, their destinies veering off in wildly different directions.  In one, Hux caught a bad strain of omiavirus at the age of six.  Though it did not kill him, he never breathed regularly again, and he had to be taken out of his father’s Academy because he could no longer physically compete.  He grew up alone, isolated and increasingly ambivalent toward his father and the rest of the so-called “First Order”.  When he turned sixteen he stole all of the valuables he could carry and fled to Naboo, where he sold everything for passage to the Hosnian system.  There, he studied politics and became a senator of the New Republic in a few short years.  Though the virus ensured that he could not so much as raise his voice without coughing, his speeches, always quiet but powerful, swayed the hearts and minds of all who heard them.

Because he was a senator and not a general of the First Order, he was not there to construct the Starkiller Base, and so Hosnian Prime was not destroyed.  Instead, a company that Hux almost single-handedly bankrupted by pushing through new tariffs on cava leaves had him assassinated.  He was mourned, then forgotten, like so many others of his time.

In that same world, Snoke twisted Ben Solo into Kylo Ren.  Ren massacred every youngling Luke Skywalker had begun to train, and several that he hadn’t.  He became the leader of the Knights of Ren and sowed terror throughout the galaxy.  When he was brought aboard the _Finalizer_ to make use of the First Order’s resources in his quest for the one missing piece of the map to Skywalker’s last known location, Snoke instructed him to kill the general on board: General Mitaka.  Ren killed Mitaka without flinching and began a long, tedious search for the last bit of the map.  He eventually located it on Jakku, but the pilot Poe Dameron found it first.  Dameron stuck the map piece in a BB unit that Ren subsequently failed to track down before it fell into the hands of a scavenger working with a defected stormtrooper.  Ren never heard of the death of Senator Hux, and even if he had he wouldn’t have cared.

* * *

There was another world: Snoke never got to Ben because, for several rather small, peculiar reasons, Snoke did not exist.  Without Snoke lurking in the background to twist his perception of reality, Ben grew up to become a padawan, then a Jedi Knight.  Under Luke’s instruction (with guidance from the Force Ghost of Anakin Skywalker, who Ben usually deferred to when he didn’t feel like listening to Luke), Ben learned how to balance the Light and the Dark within him--how to find peace and stillness whilst also keeping room for love and affection.  Those who met him found him too quiet, too awkward--but none could question that he had a good heart.  He had a soft spot for the younglings, who would follow him like toddling ducklings wherever he went.  As one of the newest members of the small but growing Jedi Order, he advised the senate of the New Republic on how to proceed on certain matters.  Though he never developed his mother’s unique ability to convince without outright using the Force, he was compelling in his own right.  He was compared favorably to his grandmother, Padmé Amidala, and he preened under the compliment.

At the hand of the New Republic, Hux’s father was brought into custody when Hux was four and executed when he was seven.  Hux was placed into foster care, and though he matched with several families over the years, he failed to connect emotionally.  He was withdrawn, anxious and compulsive.  A combination of personality disorders and phobias (though they were not recognized as such by his peers, who thought him either strange or cursed, more likely both) ensured that his teenage and adult years were spent inside, alone, and rapidly deteriorating.  He died at the age of thirty-five from self-inflicted injuries.

 

(Many of the timelines were like this: Ben, or Ren, consumed by a life dedicated to some study of the Force; Hux, dying in obscurity, or worse.  So much pain over so many lifetimes, though several of Ben’s ancestors could easily attest to worse.)

* * *

 There were others, though--universes in which the two souls managed to at least brush.

 

In one, Hux caught a bad strain of omiavirus at the age of six.  He ran away from home at the age of sixteen, studied politics, and became a senator.  Long before Hux had any reason to think about cava leaves, his ability to impress his will upon the senate caught the attention of his father’s organization, the First Order.  Though Hux’s father was long dead, many of the remaining leaders recognized his name and seethed to see him attempting to lead the hated New Republic to glory.

( _Émartia_ , the people of Hosnian Prime called him.  Poorly translated into Basic: _The Shining One_.  Widespread was the belief that Hux would stand at the forefront of a new galactic age.  If the people of Hosnian Prime remembered Padmé Amidala, they might have likened Hux to her, but they didn’t, so they didn’t.)

The leaders of the First Order concocted a plan.  If all went well, they would demonstrate the New Republic’s powerlessness, and they would remind all who so much as considered speaking against the First Order just how high of a price such thoughts could carry.

To those ends, the First Order sent Kylo Ren--the boy who had been Ben Solo, who had been twisted by Snoke, and who was little more than a small puppet in a big game--together with the Knights of Ren, to Hosnian Prime.

All told it was a bloody affair.  There was no Starkiller (after all, there was no General Hux), no massive superweapon to obliterate every last trace of life.  Instead, there was Kylo Ren and his Knights, armed with their lightsabers and varying grasps on the Force, against a populace so woefully unprepared they might as well have dug their own graves.

Hux fought, or tried to.  His father had forced him to learn basic martial arts and riflery, though his damaged lungs prohibited him from doing anything physically exerting.  Even if his lungs hadn’t turned against him, he was no match for Kylo Ren--and an angry Kylo Ren at that.  Angry, because he was sure that he’d only been sent to slaughter the senate’s golden boy because he’d failed to kill Skywalker, failed to even _find him--failed at EVERYTHING--_

* * *

In another universe without the warped, gnarled figure of Snoke commanding from his post out in the Citadel, Ben Solo was quiet, pensive, prone to melancholic spells, but ultimately a good man.  Children gravitated toward him, and he took pleasure in teaching them how to thrive in the Force.  As a teenager, his mastery of lightsaber techniques was sloppy, but he could heal wounds with ease, and his technical and piloting skills were near-flawless.  He would never match Leia as a leader, but he made his father proud.  Ben was happy.

Hux didn’t have a Force-sensitive bone in his body, but when he turned sixteen, he found himself faced with a choice.  He’d collected everything he thought would be valuable to sell to escape his father, but after accidentally accessing his father’s holopad, he’d found piles upon piles of archives dating back from the Empire regarding the Jedi.  In what was more of a selfish decision than a reasonable one, Hux sold the valuables and bought himself a ship, then used the resources of the budding New Republic to locate the nearest Jedi Temple.

Hux had been looking for Luke Skywalker, hoping at the very least to establish himself as a known and useful entity amongst the Jedi.  Instead, he found Ben.

Ben unnerved Hux, though Hux would have been at a loss as to explain why.  There was something about his face--too open, too young, too--

Then again, Hux unnerved Ben, too.  There was something about the way he carried himself--he was too prim, too smooth, too--

Once Hux ascertained that he stood to gain nothing from his venture, his mood soured.  He gave Ben everything that he’d come with on the promise that Ben would tell Luke who had donated the archives.  Ben’s mood soured, too, upon realizing that Hux was nothing more than ambition poorly hidden behind a (reasonably attractive) face.  Ben neglected to mention Hux’s name when he gave Luke the archives--less out of spite, more because he’d actually forgotten.  Hux, though disappointed that he never heard so much as a word of thanks from the Jedi Master, told himself that he hadn’t really expected anything else.

* * *

There were timelines, too, in which they _couldn’t_ meet.

 

In one, Ben was stillborn.  Leia knew before she even saw her baby, blue and unmoving, and wept, and wept, and wept.  Han tried to console her, but Leia drifted into sadness, then anger, then despair.  The death broke something inside of her, something that had been trying to fissure and fracture since before the destruction of Alderaan, and neither Han’s kind but blunt approach nor Luke’s gentle consolation could patch the cracks.  She did not, like her mother before her, lose the will to live, but she did lose the will to live in the Light.  She fled the Hosnian System and disappeared.  Han followed her and never returned.  For the short period that Luke remained, he was a solitary, wretched rock in a stormy sea.  Eventually, he, too, disappeared into the depths of the galaxy, and with him went the last shreds of knowledge regarding the ways of the Force.

Hux heard stories about Leia from the other senators.  He had been appointed in her place, for though he hadn’t yet qualified for an official election, they needed someone to fill the gaping void that she left behind when she vanished, and Hux seemed just the man for the job.  When Hux heard word of her, it was always in hushed tones, and deliberately so.  Rumors spread that to speak her name was to invite calamity.  They said she had settled on Moraband, that she had turned fully into the Dark, though few were clear on what that meant.  Others said that she had laid waste to the Unknown Regions, that she had become an arbiter of the universe, outside of time and space.  Still others claimed that she walked amongst them--stealing children, saving children, defending the defenseless, striking down the brave.  There was no constancy, so Hux read no truth in their words.

Still, in the few cases where it was relevant, he neglected to mention her by name.  Hux was not a superstitious man, but if he could avoid trouble, he would.

* * *

In another, Hux caught a bad strain of omiavirus at the age of six, and it killed him.

(Truth be told, there isn’t much to say about that timeline.  For all that Hux could be considered superfluous, _extra_ , even, there was something about that universe.  From the moment he died, there was something missing.  Ben very well could have felt it, as he felt many things, but the chill spread across the galaxy within moments of Hux’s death, and Ben never could have ascertained the source.

In that timeline, the universe ended just over one million years too early.  Odd universe, that.)

* * *

Ben Solo (sometimes Kylo Ren) and Brendol Hux, Jr. were not soulmates.  Soulmates represent fixed points in time: as they must always meet, so they must always _be_ , and they satisfied neither criterion.  Though sometimes important--astronomically so, in certain timelines--their souls did not fit together, did not form a bond across time and space that could come to define the fabric of reality.  They were not soulmates.

But once, just once, they came close.


	2. Mirror, Mirror

When Hux was six years old, omiavirus swept the Academy.  By a rather odd twist of fate (as his mother would have put it), or by the sheer strength of Hux’s constitution (as his father would have put it), Hux not only didn’t get sick: he flourished.  While his classmates languished, or died, he studied harder, worked harder, became harder.  He made his father proud, and his mother worried.

(No one had to worry about that for too long.  Perhaps to balance Hux’s fortune, she caught the disease and perished not two weeks later.  Hux’s father mourned briefly, if only after discovering that she had been pregnant with another son.)

Hux grew harder with each passing year.  He added layer upon layer to his defenses, eager to keep the world out and his own genius within.  The rivalry he faced at the Academy and later in the First Order instilled in Hux a fiercely competitive streak, an inherent distrust for all sentient beings, and disdain for all else.  An angry boy grew into an angry man, though he learned to keep his more violent outbursts in check, and he billed himself as impassive, uncaring, and dispassionate with the hopes that it would see him rise to the top the fastest.

(It did.)

So came to be General Hux.

* * *

Snoke got to Ben early.

He heard the first whispers from the Dark when he was seven.  One of Skywalker’s other students teased him for admiring flowers, and the first seeds of doubt and hate were planted.  The seeds grew rapidly: Ben soon believed that the other padawans spoke derisively about him behind his back, that they envied him, that they _hated_ him.  Ben responded in turn.

Leia noticed, attuned as she was to the Force, but she held onto the stubborn belief that her brother could keep him in the Light.

Han noticed, too, in his own way, but he was afraid, so very afraid.  He remembered Vader, though he never voluntarily spoke of him.  In every world, Han was a superstitious man, and to speak of the Devil was to invite him in.  (With less Force-sensitivity than a tree, he had no way of knowing that hell was empty and all its devils were already there.)

Luke, who’d always walked a fine line between the Light and the Dark, did nothing until it was too late.  Only when even the younglings were dead and the temple that he’d built with such high hopes had been torn down did he realize what he’d done.  Afraid of seeing disappointment and rage in his sister’s eyes— _how could he face her and Han now?_ —he fled.

From there, Snoke took a different approach.  When Ben was young, he had been mere feelings—hatred, anger, spite.  When Ben grew into his teens, Snoke took the form of thoughts: _I’m better than this, I deserve more than this, they will fear me_.

When Ben became Kylo Ren, Snoke became the whip.  Snoke told Ren that he was weak, ungrateful, too much like his mother.  He insisted that Ren could not be trained, that whatever raw strength he had from the Force was useless.  Ren drank up the abuse in the absence of anything else, and it hollowed him out inside.  Snoke turned Ren into a mad dog, snapping at the heels of anyone who came too close, whining at this sight of his master.  Snoke smiled to look upon him, and Ren quivered, hoping for praise but expecting the next lash.

So came to be Kylo Ren.

* * *

Hux was not the First Order’s youngest officer, nor had he ever held that distinction.  The organization prided itself on its ability to seek and develop budding talent.  In that regard, Hux was a man amongst men.  The officers of High Command were his peers, his comrades, his equals.

Hux privately considered such talk utter nonsense.  He was, after all, the First Order’s only General and the only individual in the galaxy who could command Admirals and Captains and the rest without fear of reprimand.  He possessed no equal, nor did he desire one.

He thought as much as he sat through meetings facilitated by holotech, listening to his so-called “equals” drone on and on about the need for caution, for restraint, for _care_.  Had he been a lesser man, he might have cried for the utter lack of strategic thinking, of charisma, of even the slightest bit of intuition or inspiration.

_Fools_ , Hux thought.   _You’re all fools_.

He didn’t say so much, though he sometimes wished that he could.  He wasn’t yet in such a position of power that he could do away with just anyone he desired, but he was close.  He had been born to rule, and rule he would, soon.

“General Hux,” Admiral Threon said, “have you anything to say?”

Hux forced his face to remain composed.  How _dare_ this _runt of a man_ so much as _speak_ his name; as if Threon possessed even an _iota_ of power over Hux…!

“Admiral,” Hux said, inclining his head courteously.  “I personally disagree with your plans for the Neerdian system.  Attempting to approach such weak defenses with a mostly defensive arrangement is hardly the most efficient tactic.”

Threon bristled under the not-so-subtle barb, but Hux had no intention of allowing the corpulent windbag to say another moronic word.

“I believe the best outcome will be achieved using a fully offensive strike,” Hux said smoothly, making eye contact with each of the leaders at the table, both corporeal and hologram alike.  He was pleased to note that most of them seemed to be paying him perfect attention—and respect.  Hux liked that very much.

“They lack the necessary defenses with which to hold out in the event of a concentrated strike, the likes of which are easy enough to orchestrate.  There is no need to draw out this conflict,” Hux concluded.

Threon’s hologram was blue, but Hux was very sure that the bloated body his hologram had the misfortune of showing was quite red in the face.

“We need to use _tact_ ,” Threon spat.  “This isn’t a game, General.”

Hux smiled thinly.  “No,” he said, “it isn’t.  That is precisely why your plan isn’t going to work.  We have no need for diplomacy here.  Neerda is only tenuously associated with the New Republic, and her resources—the only thing we require from that system, may I remind you—are not under governmental control.  We have no need of them as a people, only as a system with a rather remarkable endowment of natural resources.”  Hux allowed his smile to drop as he remembered his trump card, his ace up the sleeve.  “Unless,” Hux said, allowing his words to drip like poison, “you’re concerned about your niece.  Her husband is a governor on Neerda.  There are rumors that he supports the Resistance.”

The atmosphere around the room changed instantaneously.  All eyes were on Threon even as Hux straightened, making sure that he wasn’t slouching or otherwise ruining his perfect posture.

“You,” Threon started.  “Are you accusing me of supporting a Resistance fighter?”

“Of course not,” Hux said.  His words were like oil on water.  Threon couldn’t so much as grasp them but would soon drown under their weight.  “It is, however, the only reason I can think of that you would support diplomacy over action.  After all, family can cloud even the best of minds.”  Hux punctuated his words by tapping on the table.  He was being courteous, perhaps even _kind_ , leaving Threon such a generous window with which to escape his predicament.  The deed left a rotten taste in Hux’s mouth.

“I move to withdraw my objections,” Threon said, his voice noticeably smaller, “given the severity of the accusations.”  The council murmured their agreements: Neerda and the surrounding system would see a full-scale assault by the First Order within the next cycle.

Hux smiled viciously to see Threon disappear from the holotable first, no doubt to inform his sorry excuse for a niece of the impending attack.  Something would have to be done about her.

“Ruthless,” Admiral Mikoto said from where she sat across from Hux.  She collected her datapad and stood, the only other living body in a room of quickly-vanishing ghostly holograms.  The _Finalizer_ was temporarily positioned on the edge of the territory Mikoto managed in the name of the First Order, a result of severe “asteroid damage”.  Though Hux would have preferred to handle the repairs using his own men, Mikoto and a portion of her fleet had been sent to the _Finalizer_ to aid in any way imaginable.  Repairs proceeded smoothly with their assistance, but until they were finished, Hux was saddled with the Admiral herself.  The red of her lipstick reminded Hux of a knife wound, and he found himself wondering what she would look like beaten and bloody.  He thought it would be rather more pleasing than less.

“Admiral Threon worries me,” Hux said plainly, standing as well.

“He is weak,” Mikoto said.  Her heels, Hux noted, were as far out of regulation as her lipstick, but given that they ended in sharpened knives, he doubted anyone would cite her for it.  “He thinks himself above you.”

“He is wrong,” Hux said, inclining his head.  “Shall we continue this over a drink?”

Hux offered his arm, and Mikoto took it.  “I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

“Asteroid damage”.

Ren scoffed to hear how Hux had offered such a thing as rationale for the repairs to the _Finalizer_.  Why not just come out with it: Ren had thrown a big enough tantrum that the _entire ship_ had nearly crumpled in on itself.  Sixteen technicians had died because Ren had lost all control and turned the _Finalizer_ into an enormous metal stress ball.

Ren squeezed his eyes shut and pretended he was anywhere else.  He couldn’t, though; even with his knees pressed against his chest and his eyes screwed shut, he could feel Hux moving through the ship with Mikoto.  He could hear them talking, if he tried hard enough, but he was distracted.  He could have died.  They all could have died, and everything would have been for naught.  His thoughts bounced back and forth in his mind, ricocheting off the walls.  Everything hurt.

_Useless_ , Snoke whispered in his ear. _Helpless, hopeless_.

Ren curled himself into an even tighter ball.  It wasn’t Snoke, not really— at least, Ren didn’t think it was really Snoke.  Snoke rarely spoke to him personally, not since Hux had been promoted.

Hux, Snoke, _useless_ , Mikoto, “asteroids”— 

Ren felt his control slipping again.   _Power and control_ , he told himself.   _Patience_.

But Ren had never learned to be patient.  Someone had to understand that, had to help—

No, help was for the weak.  Ren wasn’t weak.  He’d proved his strength a thousand times before, and a thousand times again.  Weak was not him.

Ren forced himself to focus in on something, anything, to stop himself from thinking.  Ren needed not to think, needed his thoughts to stop bouncing back and forth between the same points in space.  Once, he might have thought that sleep would help, but he knew better.  His thoughts and fears plagued his dreams and left him more exhausted than less.  He rarely slept now.  Sleeping was wasted time anyway.  Hux agreed, which irked him, but there was nothing to be done about that.

_Hux_.  There was something.  Ren focused in on Hux.  Hux’s presence was— difficult, for Ren to describe.  Physically, he was weak—slim-shouldered and trim-waisted and _small_ , so very small.  Yet, he carried himself with power, from the scowl on his face to his pressed clothes, to that coat he wore (so blatantly out of regulation, but who would dare say so much?) down to the very manner in which he organized his mind.  He was chaos and anger and hatred, just like Ren, but he had _control_ , and that control gave him his power.

(Did that make Ren weak in comparison?)

Ren hastily erased that thought from his mind.  Hux, he needed to find Hux.  Hux was the embodiment of control.  Watching him would help Ren.  Snoke had told him so much.

It wasn’t challenging; Hux, of course, was headed back to his quarters with Admiral Mikoto.  Ren knew very little about Mikoto, except that she smoked expensive cigarettes and commanded a fleet second in size only to Hux himself.  She was beautiful, and that made her dangerous.

All at once, her hands were fisted in Hux’s hair, and Ren felt the breath leave his body.  In focusing on Hux, he _became_ Hux, in a manner of speaking.  He felt what he did, heard Hux’s thoughts—

Mikoto had her hands in his hair.  Ren swallowed.  They had, quite obviously, skipped the drink and discussion and moved onto more interesting activities within the relatively private walls of Hux’s private quarters.  Relative, because no secrets could be kept from Ren, but why should he be watching?

Why, indeed.  Ren knew, truly, that he ought to leave them be.  Nothing good could come of this—voyeurism, that was the only word for it.

Yet.  Ren uncurled, just a little.  What harm could it do?

He closed his eyes gently this time and focused in on Hux.  He couldn’t see Mikoto, but he could feel her and everything she was doing.  Her hands were in his hair, and her lips were on his.  They kissed fervently, ardently even.  He could hardly breathe, but surprisingly, he could think quite clearly.

_He’s not enjoying this,_ Ren thought, fleetingly, before Hux chimed, unaware of Ren’s presence, _She’s enjoying this_.

One of Mikoto’s hands left Hux’s hair to trail down his chest.  Ren shivered, but Hux didn’t so much as flinch.

“Too many layers,” Mikoto said.  Hux laughed, and the sound reverberated in Ren’s head.  It was completely and utterly false, but both Ren and Hux were sure that Mikoto believed it to be genuine.  Ren unconsciously sunk deeper into Hux as they stripped, murmuring praise and nipping at each little bit of skin that came out into the open.  Mikoto’s nails dragged across Hux’s back, leaving welts, and Hux laughed.  It was different, though—darker.   _Better_ , Hux thought, and Ren shivered.

That momentary lapse on Ren’s part had his entire perspective skittering out of control.  He reached blindly, trying to stay with Hux, and he fell to his knees on the floor, suddenly too hot and gasping for breath.  He felt something different—overpowering, heady, impossible…

Ren gasped for breath.   _His focus had accidentally shifted to Mikoto_.

Hux had felt muted pleasure, Ren understood, but he had been in control.  Mikoto was a very different story.  She felt pleasure the likes of which Ren had never deigned to understand.  Her thoughts were neither concise nor distinct but rather a jumbled mess of _Hux please more now PLEASE_ punctuated by sharp breaths and moans.  Ren could feel Hux’s breath ghosting across her neck just before he sucked a bruise just below her ear.  The feeling had Kylo arching up into hands that weren’t there, seeking pressure, seeking— 

One of Hux’s hands had drifted down, pinching and rolling a nipple under one (still gloved, _oh_ ) hand.  Ren whimpered, and Mikoto could hardly breathe.

“Lovely,” Hux murmured, and Ren made an embarrassingly high-pitched sound as he came in his own trousers.

The sensation pulled him away from Mikoto, away from Hux, away from everything as he shuddered and then went still.  Ren knelt on the floor, alone and uncomfortable, lethargy taking over his limbs.

That had been…

The lights were out.  They had been on before, and though Ren called for them, they didn’t respond.  He shut his eyes yet again, this time exasperated with himself.  No doubt he’d destroyed the mechanism somehow, when he had—

When.  He felt no need to elaborate.

He stood with substantially less grace than he usually possessed, which wasn’t saying much.  He stripped and went to his ‘fresher, where he splashed water on his face and looked at his reflection.

That had been…

_No_ , he told himself.   _No_.

Still…

A moment’s worth of concentration told him that Hux and Mikoto were still _entangled_ , as it were.  Ren could hear Mikoto’s screams of pleasure almost without trying.  Hux was nearly silent.  Why was he busy pleasuring a woman who he seemed to get nothing from?  Ren didn’t know, but he didn’t want to watch any more.  He felt...dirty, and not in a way that was compatible with the Dark or his own dubious morals.

Ren continued to stare at his reflection.  Rage and shame were welling in his chest, much as they often did, and the glass rippled under his attentions.  His mind, temporarily silenced, roared once more.

“Power and control,” Ren said to his reflection, willing it to be so.

The mirror shattered, and Ren exhaled.

“Power and control,” he repeated, staring at the glass shards.  They writhed under his scrutiny, even as he willed them to stay still.  He could feel them in his palms, in his brain, bringing pain but no relief.  “Power and control, power and control, power and control…”


	3. Mirror, Mirror (Pt. 2)

Hux leaned against the wall and took a drag on his cigarette.

Years of practice had helped him overcome the urge most men had to fall asleep after sex.  It helped that it had been mediocre at best.  Hux couldn’t remember the last time he’d bedded a truly skilled partner and wondered fleetingly if he ever had.  Of course, he had to have—he’d learned from somewhere.  No one was a natural at sex, for all that it was supposed to come naturally, though Hux found sex anything but natural.

He looked down at Mikoto.  Her eyes were shut as she lay against his side.  She’d slid under his sheets after they finished, citing the cold of the room.  It was a play for further attention, one that Hux didn’t particularly feel like responding to, so he didn’t.  Their encounter had been necessary and inevitable, but Hux wasn’t inclined to drag it out further than absolutely necessary.  It was bad enough that he’d have to change his sheets, that she wanted to _touch_ him more than absolutely necessary.

Her scars had been interesting, though.  Hux had been careful not to touch or to draw attention to the fact that he’d noticed.  He’d counted five large ones, though she was littered with substantially smaller cuts that Hux mentally classified as _self-inflicted_.  The most obvious of the large scars was the literal chip in her left shoulder where a chunk of flesh was quite simply missing.  The others were from through-and-through wounds to the stomach that had exited her back.  The front and back scars were the same in size, so Hux guessed she’d been run through twice with the same object.  

Hux possessed no such marks.  He had perfected himself and solidified his position within First Order far from any battlefront.  There were those who scoffed at the notion of simulations as a replacement for training in the field, but Hux knew it to be the best manner of training for officers.  How else could you breed the ideal commander?  A future Emperor?

“You’re thinking too much,” Mikoto said.  She nuzzled his torso, and Hux had to refrain from rolling away.He’d regretted undressing as soon as he’d felt her hands across his skin. _Unclean_ , he thought.He would have to scrub his skin to erase every last trace of her.

“How could you tell?” Hux asked.

“You’re not smoking,” she said, opening one eye.  “You don’t strike me as the type to hold a cigarette for fun.”

Hux made an attempt at a smile and brought the cigarette back to his lips.  He had smoked in his last years at the Academy.  The day his father had found out about his habit had been the day he was forced to quit.  His father had been adamant that he keep his lungs, just like the rest of his body and mind, in perfect working order.  Every cigarette after that had been a temptation that was followed swiftly by lingering guilt and fear of the thrashing he could receive.

_He’s dead_ , Hux reminded himself, taking a particularly vicious drag.  His father was dead, and yet he still haunted Hux from beyond the grave.

“Credit for your thoughts?” Mikoto asked.

_Get off my ship_ , Hux thought.  Mikoto looked up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“I was right,” Hux said.  Mikoto arched an eyebrow, and Hux continued, “You have perfect thighs.”

Mikoto flushed and smacked him halfheartedly, allowing him to go back to his cigarette.  Soon, repairs would be concluded, Hux could escort Mikoto back to her own ship, and with any luck, he’d never have to dally with her again.  Perhaps he could arrange her assassination and absorb her fleet into his own.

He almost couldn’t restrain a grin at the thought.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Mikoto asked rather abruptly.  Whatever smile he’d been considering vanished like smoke.

_No_ , Hux thought.   _I don’t_.  The concept was known to him, certainly, and he’d wondered what it would be like, having someone else to complete him—except Hux fancied himself complete, whole, _perfect_ on his own.  He didn’t need another half, he needed his soldiers to follow his orders.

“Do you?” Hux asked, dodging the irritating and ultimately useless question.

Beside him, Mikoto looked to the ceiling.  “I don’t know,” she said.  She idly stroked Hux’s arm—a calculated move, certainly, expecting to elicit a certain emotional response, one Hux had no intention of demonstrating.  “I’d like a soulmate, someone to lead with.  We could bring the galaxy to heel.”

A bold statement.  Hux understood what “we” referred to and elected to ignore the matter.  Assassination, certainly.

“Perhaps,” he said.  “The problem with soulmates, assuming they exist, is the fallibility of man.  There’s no guarantee that one’s soulmate would be one’s equal, or even worthy of one’s attention.”  He was thinking of Threon’s niece and the persistence of the Resistance.

“You don’t believe in them, then?”

Hux saw no way around the matter.  “No,” he said.  “I don’t.”

Mikoto might have found him ruthless, but she herself could only be described as relentless.  She hummed, and Hux felt the vibrations through his skin straight down to his bones.

“Maybe you just haven’t been looking hard enough,” she said, low and seductive.

Hux stubbed the cigarette out on the ashtray Mikoto had so kindly brought along with her cigarettes and allowed her to pull him down for a kiss.  Disabusing her of the notion that she and Hux could rule the galaxy side-by-side wasn’t worth alienating her—not yet, anyway.  Eventually, Hux thought, as he maneuvered Mikoto onto her back.  Soon, preferably.  He’d be rid of her soon.

Mikoto moaned underneath him as he ran his fingers over her still-sensitive skin.  He still hadn’t removed his gloves, ruined though they now were, but she didn’t seem to mind.  Hux pictured her flagship imploding.  Perhaps he’d do it himself—“friendly fire” wasn’t unheard of.  He’d enjoy that.

* * *

Ren didn’t bother cleaning up the shattered mirror shards in the ‘fresher.  Instead, he wiped his face dry with his cloak and returned to his (dark) room to lay on his stripped bed.

The Jedi had been ascetic, espousing hermitude and simplicity.  They forbade comfort, forbade attachments, forbade _emotions_.  “Forbidden” might as well have been the only word in their vocabulary.  The Sith, on the other hand, had swung in a wildly different direction.  Hedonists, they cared about pleasure, emotion, _power_.  They saw the Jedi as ridiculous for denying the world that lay for the taking.  Only when the Jedi determined that the Sith were a threat because too many padawans were looking to the Dark Side than the Light did Sith doctrine begin to focus on violence over all else.

That was what Snoke had told him; that was why Ren needed mastery of both the Light and the Dark.  Ren had no reason to disbelief Snoke, except that the two sides of the Force were entirely incompatible with one another.  Privately (or not so, as Snoke could appear in his mind anywhere at any time) Ren didn’t think himself capable of balancing both.  His grandfather, the great Darth Vader, had brought balance to the Force.  Ren was not yet Vader.  Only in his wildest (nonexistent) dreams could Ren become half the man his grandfather had been.

The ship was quiet, and Ren took that to mean that Hux and Mikoto had _finished_.  He reached, tentative, to Hux and found him quiet and pensive, though annoyed.

_Get off my ship_ , Hux thought distinctly, and it was unnerving until Ren determined that the message was not intended for him, but rather for Mikoto.  Curious.  Ren rather wanted Mikoto off of the _Finalizer_ as well, if only because that would mean that all repairs were complete.  At that point, Hux would return to his pet project, Starkiller Base, leaving Ren with the _Finalizer_ and free reign to search for the last piece of the map to Luke Skywalker.

_Luke_.  The very name had Ren shaking with rage.

_Power and control_ , Ren thought, ineffectual though it seemed lately.  He couldn’t afford more delays, and if he broke something else, it would only hurt him.  It crossed his mind that he’d have to do something about the mirror and the lights, though maybe he wouldn’t.  He could always trick some fool into switching rooms and force them to deal with it.

He’d have to wait until Hux was gone, though.  Hux had a tendency to see through Ren as if he were transparisteel instead of flesh, and it was damned unnerving given that he had about as much Force-sensitivity as his fa—as _Han Solo_ had.

Ren took in a deep breath and let it out.  He needed to get his mind under control.  He needed _control_.  He couldn’t focus on the map if his mind wasn’t clear, couldn’t gain a better mastery of the Force, couldn’t—

_Breathe_ , Ren told himself.   _Power and control_.

Gingerly, he folded his legs under him, crossing them carefully.  He wasn’t flexible, so holding a meditative posture always had him aching later, but it was a good kind of ache.  It meant that he was doing well, and that was so rare now that he had to take what he could get.

Ren placed his hands on his knees, palms facing the ceiling.  He took in a breath, held it for seven counts, and exhaled for the same.  He hadn’t done this in a long while, in no small part because of Hux—his thoughts were so loud, so _persistent_ …

But for once, he was quiet.  Ren would take what he could get.  He allowed air to rush in and out of his lungs until it was less like rushing, gasping for breath, and more like a slow, steady flow.  Then, and only then, did Ren turn inward.

His thoughts, as per usual, were a mess.  In his mind, he pictured a vast, dark cavern filled with cold water.  There were scorch marks on the walls and ceiling from his thoughts, like shots from a blaster.  The water came up to his calves and chilled him to his bones, but there was no exit, nor did Ren desire one.  He walked slowly to the walls and began scrubbing them down, using his hands and arms to rub away the soot until everything was spotless.  He rubbed his forearms raw as he scraped, and his fingernails ripped along with his skin, but the grime disappeared, inch by painful inch.  Some of the marks that were higher on the walls were harder to reach, but with some will and devotion—the Force was an act of devotion, of complete submission, Snoke insisted, and Ren _knew_ , in his soul, that it was true—they came clean.

When the sides of the cavern were without blemish, Ren came to stand in the middle of the water.  He spun slowly around, ensuring that he’d missed nothing, before slowly easing himself in.

This was always the hardest part, he thought.

_No, no thoughts_.

Thankfully, another blaster-mark didn’t appear on the cavern walls, but only because Ren caught it in time.  It was rare that he managed such control, and he allowed himself a moment of congratulations before he continued his descent into the water.  It came up to his chest, and he could feel the cold as it seeped into him, emptying him.  He was an empty shell, a vessel for the Force.  Snoke said he was perfect, and so he would be, so long as the water absolved him of his failings, so long as he remained empty.

The cold of the water had him freezing, then burning, but he remained still, empty.  There was the Force, not in him but around him.  He was empty, perfect, cold, burning.  Nothing else could exist, would ever exist.  He didn’t stare into the abyss, he _was_ the abyss.  In that moment, Ren ceased to exist, and he felt peace.

It couldn’t last.

The image of a Resurgent-class Star Destroyer exploding spectacularly drew Ren out of his meditation.  His awareness expanded abruptly until he was back aboard the _Finalizer_ , sitting cross-legged in his quarters, disoriented and slightly sick.  His legs were stiff, but he was already too preoccupied with the disturbance to move.

The image wouldn’t disappear.  It was sharp and clear and brutal and almost certainly not his devising.

_Hux_ , Ren thought.  Perhaps due to his meditation, it took him a moment to feel the rage he knew was coming.  How _dare_ Hux disturb his work, his first successful meditation in _weeks_ , and for what?  Daydreaming?

Ren drew into Hux’s mind, then abruptly back out.  He swallowed.  Oh.   _Oh_.

Hux fucked Mikoto to the thought of killing her.  While the image of her flagship—and Ren was very sure it was meant to be Mikoto’s after the quick dip he’d taken into Hux’s thoughts—burned brightest, underneath Hux pictured his fingers wrapped around her throat, strangling her before her crew, hacking her body to pieces for so much as _daring to think_ that she was worthy of him.  The pleasure he took from those images was as brutal as it was pure.

A testament to Ren’s condition, he couldn’t tell if he’d rather commend the General for his brutality or go be sick in the ‘fresher.  He tried to get back into his mind, into the cavern where he was empty and nothing existed except for the cocoon of the Force, but the pictures wouldn’t go away.  Hux’s projected thoughts had often disturbed his meditation, but this was—different.  Ren would have been hard-pressed to explain why.  Alone, he forced himself to lay back and take whatever Hux was dealing with no hope for reprieve.

_Maybe this is why the Jedi isolated themselves_ , part of Ren thought.   _To escape._

Escape was for children, Ren reminded himself.  As if that helped, as if Ren couldn’t feel Hux’s hands around his throat like they longed to wrap around Mikoto’s, squeezing, extinguishing.

Something had to be done about Hux.


	4. Silence

Another two days and several rather athletic rounds with Admiral Mikoto saw the _Finalizer_ ’s repairs finished.

Not nearly soon enough, Hux thought sourly.  Mikoto had been a literal thorn in his side for the duration of her “visit”.  She had all but insisted on following him everywhere, and though she was passably smart and a fellow officer, Hux found her incredibly insipid and obnoxiously sycophantic.  He hated her completely and utterly.

“May our work bring us together soon,” Mikoto said just before she boarded her shuttle.  Hux found it in him to wish her safe travels, but he couldn’t reciprocate her smile.  It was all he could do not to spit in her face.

With Mikoto gone, the _Finalizer_ felt quiet, as if it were empty.  Hux loved it.  He went directly from the hangar to the bridge to set a course for Starkiller posthaste.  Their detour had cost them days, courtesy of _Ren_ , and Hux was needed urgently to oversee the construction of the base.  They could not risk any further delays, particularly given how tenacious the Resistance had proven over time.

They were at warp within moments of Hux’s orders, and Hux found himself staring at the starfields as they passed.  The _Finalizer_ would have to make the journey in segments, not only to avoid _actual_ asteroids and the rest, but to throw off any pursuit that might be attempted.  As far as anyone outside of the First Order knew, Starkiller was no more than a rumor, and a grandiose one at that.  For the good of the future to come, they needed to keep it that way.

Without turning around, Hux became aware of a new presence on the bridge: Kylo Ren himself.  Hux couldn’t see Ren reflected in the transparisteel—one of the many objections Hux had to Ren’s chosen clothing—no, Hux knew that Ren had arrived because of the crew: they tended to fall silent whenever Ren was close, ducking down to their work and hoping beyond hope that they weren’t his target.  It irked Hux.  It wasn’t jealousy because he didn’t wish for them to act in such a way toward himself.  It was more complicated than that, and that bothered Hux.   _Everything_ about Ren bothered him, from his improbable existence down to the repercussions of it.

_Fool_ , Hux thought, as loud as possible.  From what he understood about the Force, thoughts were just as accessible as spoken words to those sensitive enough, and though Hux would be hard-pressed to describe Ren as _sensitive_ , he certainly had a way with Force-powered parlor tricks.  Hux had no way of knowing what manner of thought could be picked up, however, and so had decided to think as loudly as possible in hopes of getting his points across.  So far, Ren had failed to react, leaving Hux to believe that Ren had no such mind-reading abilities at all.  He now only thought loudly and distinctly when it suited him.  Now was one such moment.

At once, Hux heard Ren’s boots clomping and his cloak swinging in the air—he was approaching now.  Hux’s skin crawled at the noise.  It had been so quiet before Ren had arrived.  Couldn’t he be _quiet_?

“General,” Ren said, his voice modulated by the vocoder built into his ridiculous mask.  Hux sometimes wondered whether Ren was as disfigured as his dead ancestor, Vader, or if he used the mask for theatrics, just like the rest of his ratty outfit or his temper tantrums.   _Theatrics_ , Hux thought loudly.   _Fool_.

If Ren heard him, he gave no indication.

“Is there something you need, Ren?” Hux asked.  He kept his voice even, if not pleasant.  He was fresh out of pleasantries, courtesy of Mikoto.  Oh, when he’d had his fingers around her throat, if only he’d squeezed but a little tighter—

“You will be leaving us at Starkiller,” Ren said.  It wasn’t a question, and Hux felt no pressing need to speak.  “It is imperative that we remain on schedule, General.”

A wellspring of absolute hate erupted within Hux.

“If we aren’t, we all know who to blame,” he said crisply.  He didn’t deign to turn away from the transparisteel and, beyond, the stars.  In the future, perhaps even soon, he would govern them all.

Ren had nothing to say in his defense.  “The Supreme Leader is counting on you,” he said.  “See to it that you do not disappoint him.”

“You should worry about yourself, Ren,” Hux said, infusing his voice with as much vitriol and condescension as he could without spitting the words.  “You’ve failed in everything that comes to mind.”

“With the _Finalizer_ , I shall be able to locate Skywalker,” Ren said.  Even through the vocoder, he sounded defensive, cornered.  Ren made for such lousy prey—for all his bite, he never knew how to back down, never knew how to defend himself.  He lacked a single iota of strategic thinking, and so he would continue to fail while Hux succeeded.  That would be the order of things, from here until the end of time, _ad infinitum_.

“I hope for your success,” Hux said, “though I anticipate a rather poor performance.  If you fail again, you might as well not return at all.”

Ren hovered near his shoulder for a few long moments, no doubt wondering whether or not he should strangle Hux for his disrespect.  Hux felt a thrill roll up his spine at the prospect.  If Ren lashed out first, Hux would have precedent to kill him.  Snoke would be displeased, but then, was he ever not?  Hux would be rid of Ren, and if having a Sith or whatever Ren was proved so important, surely one of his degenerate underlings could take his place.  It was hard for Hux to imagine a better outcome.  One of Ren’s Knights might even assist Hux in Ren’s fall from grace—not that he had far to fall, all told.

_I despise you_ , Hux thought.   _You deserve neither your power nor your title.  You’re a worthless clod of mud no amount of polishing could bring to a shine_.

Ren, loud as always, marched himself back down the gangway and off of the bridge.  Hux allowed his grin to ease a bit.  That conversation had been almost civil and hadn’t ended in violence.  How novel.

* * *

Ren had become acclimated to Hux’s constant barrage of insults and derogatory language early on in their partnership, if it could be termed so much.  Ren had (mistakenly and not entirely honestly) informed Hux that he could hear thoughts.  (He could hear _projected_ thoughts easily, others with effort, but Hux didn’t need to know that.)  He’d intended it to be a threat to keep Hux in check, always wondering if Ren was listening, always second-guessing himself.

Perhaps Hux had guessed Ren’s intentions, for he made a point to turn Ren’s gift into a curse.  Often, when they were in the same room, Hux would concoct elaborate, violent scenarios, often involving Ren’s torture and eventual demise.  At first, Ren had been understandably put-off.  Hux had imagined breaking every single bone in Ren’s body sequentially, starting with his fingers and ending with his spine.  He’d imagined tying Ren behind a speeder and dragging him through a city, allowing his body to be torn to shreds by the unyielding ground.  Hux had ordered him hung, drawn and quartered, decapitated, defenestrated—and rarely the same fantasy twice.

It had turned Ren’s stomach, once.  Now, he was mostly inured to Hux’s violence, to the chaos that simmered so violently just below Hux’s composed façade.  It didn’t bother him anymore.

(If it did, admitting so much would be admitting care, and admitting care would be admitting Light, so said Snoke.  He needed Light, but not that kind of Light.  Ren could not care, did not care.)

The frequency of Hux’s brutal fantasies had lessened over time.  Ren supposed Hux had gotten bored with it and moved on.  Still, Hux’s other thoughts, almost as loud and obnoxious as those intended for Ren, had distracted him from his purpose.  As he walked away, Ren knew that he’d done nothing more than make a fool of himself.  He hadn’t even accomplished what he’d set out to do, which was to ask—why?  Why had Hux lied to Mikoto?  Why “asteroids”?Tangentially: why couldn’t Hux ever be quiet in his own mind?

There was no way to turn around and go back without arousing Hux’s suspicion, so Ren didn’t.  Hux’s rage had awakened a kindred anger in his own chest, and though it diminished with distance, it didn’t entirely burn out.

_Power and control_ , Ren told himself.  He needed to find the last bit of the map to Skywalker and kill the last Jedi, just like Hux needed to see Starkiller completed and the New Republic obliterated.  If Ren damaged the _Finalizer_ again, and so soon after repairs had been completed, only one of those goals would be hampered, and it wouldn’t be Hux writhing beneath Snoke’s steady, unyielding gaze.

As Ren strode through the corridors of the _Finalizer_ , he could not think of a single instance in which it had been Hux, not Ren, to have been punished for some indiscretion.  As far as Ren knew, Snoke had yet to find fault with Hux’s work.  To hear Snoke tell of it, Hux was the pinnacle of man, the very ideal society should and would one day embrace.

Except, if Ren were to make an educated guess, Hux was a pawn—a useful pawn in the sense that he possessed a keen mind, a ruthless demeanor, and a sycophantic personality with regards to Snoke and the First Order, courtesy of his father, but a pawn nonetheless.  He would be removed when the time came because he lacked balance: Hux was too firmly entrenched in the Dark of things, even without knowing it.  He couldn’t be a part of the perfect universe he so hoped to build because he himself was so intrinsically flawed.

Ren had to smile to himself.  Hux tried so hard on behalf of the First Order, but no matter what he did, no matter whether he succeeded or he failed, he would die just the same: painfully, in obscurity, lost to time.  For all that Ren had suffered at Hux’s hands, he would ensure so much.

* * *

Almost as soon as Ren left the bridge, Hux felt the need to smoke.

_Damn Mikoto_ , he thought viciously.  A stab of guilt, not for the murderous thought but for wanting to smoke at all, cut through him.  But his father was dead, and Hux sincerely doubted that Snoke cared if he destroyed his lungs or not.  Snoke cared for no one other than himself and his plans for the galaxy.  Neither Ren nor Hux mattered in the eyes of the Supreme Leader except in their short-term use.

No matter.  Hux would kill or else out-maneuver Snoke, just as he’d killed or out-maneuvered everyone else in his way over the course of his life.  When it came down to it, Snoke was no different than any other being in the galaxy.  He was mortal: he could age, contract disease, die.  The only problem was accessibility.  Hux would get around that, though.  He always did.

Of course, something else: Ren would be a problem.  Still, Hux mused, could he ever be classified otherwise?

The urge to smoke was strong.  Hux felt his fingers twitching.  He hated this part, feeling out of control.  Hux was always in control.

They would be arriving at Starkiller in just under the hour.  Hux could see it in the back of his mind, his glorious superweapon, designed for efficient annihilation.  He found it intrinsically beautiful, from the cannon down to its very circuitry.  Hux himself was no engineer, and the exact science of it (embarrassingly enough) eluded him.  He had spent months reading and rereading engineering reports, technicians notes, anything and everything that was by necessity copied to him, in an attempt to fully comprehend the enormity of what promised to be his legacy.  Even with all of that effort, there were things that seemed abstract to the point of incomprehensibility.  He had been assured by multiple officers and scientists that his plans were infallible, that Starkiller would, as hoped, be the only weapon necessary to bring the galaxy to heel, but the lingering fear of failure persisted.  What if it failed to fire?  If it failed in some other capacity?  Hux had sunk a great deal of credits, time, energy, and pride into Starkiller.  He couldn’t afford failure.

A flurry of movement behind Hux told him the alpha shift was over and the beta shift had arrived to relieve them of their posts.  Hux took that as his cue to depart.  With a word to Lieutenant Kader as he took sign-out from Lieutenant Mitaka, the bridge was handed over, and Hux found himself striding purposefully to his own quarters.

It was on that walk that he realized— _Ren_.  What had he wanted?  It had to have been something.  They had mutually agreed, though they had never discussed so much, not to bother the other unless absolutely necessary.  They hated each other too much to hold any length of conversation without Snoke leading it, or else they would be at each others’ throats in seconds.

Hux dismissed the entire notion of Ren immediately.  He certainly didn’t care what went on in Ren’s mad little mind, and if he wanted something he hadn’t asked, so Hux was under no obligation to anyone.  At any rate, in an hour they would be apart once more.  It would be good riddance.  He could quite possible find some quiet at last.

Hux swiped into his quarters with a sigh.  One hour.  He had one blessedly empty hour, with the promise of silence and isolation.  He might have smiled had he not caught sight of his bedside table.  A carton of cigarettes, sight not unwelcome but surprising, sat beside the utilitarian lamp.

At some point, Mikoto had been in his quarters without him.

Hux was going to burn this ship _down_.


	5. Rage, Rage

The _Finalizer_ without Hux hardly felt like the same vessel.  Hux tended to impress his own anxieties and quirks on the ship, and his absence was akin to a void, a black hole where there had been entire systems bustling with activity and life.It baffled Ren, if only because Hux didn’t have the advantage of the Force to motivate his troops, yet his energetic fervor, constant and all-encompassing, bled into the machinery and crew anyway.

Having Admiral Fyl aboard in Hux’s place was both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because his mind was docile and largely empty, a curse because his laziness encouraged the crew to follow his example.Hux’s shuttle had docked ten standard minutes ago on Starkiller, and already the atmosphere was one of ease, as if the entirety of the _Finalizer_ had taken a great breath in relief. 

That wouldn’t do.Not in the slightest.Ren refused to have his mission compromised by a lackluster work ethic.It didn’t help that Hux had taken his most efficient officers, Mitaka and Phasma, with him.

“Admiral,” Ren said, barely keeping the violence out of his tone as he approached Admiral Fyl on the bridge.His vocoder amplified the threat in those few syllables.

Even as Fyl stood, ostensibly in power, on the bridge—where Hux had stood earlier, in fact, staring at the stars—Ren could feel the fear rolling off of him.As far as Ren knew, Hux had never feared him, nor anyone else.Ren doubted Hux knew fear at all.What a wonder that must be, Ren thought, not to have that crippling, debilitating condition that plagued most of humanity.

“Lord Ren,” Fyl said.He inclined his head rather too little for Ren’s liking.(Hux never inclined his head at all, but that was a separate issue.) He also didn't seem to understand that "Ren" was his title, not a surname. He supposed he didn't mind; Vader had been styled as a Lord. Ren didn't feel confident enough in his abilities to take that mantle yet, however.

“Set a course for the Motlyyl system,” Ren ordered.

“Ah, I’m afraid we’ve flight plans to take us to the Asserip system,” Fyl said.“That is where the latest intelligence—”

Ren refused to let him continue.“Motlyyl, Admiral,” he repeated.

Fyl stood up a little straighter.“Listen here, boy.You might let that upstart General run roughshod over you, but you’ll not order me about. This ship is under my command now.”

Ren stood silent for a few moments.Fyl felt something akin to confidence, but it wasn’t enough to mask his overwhelming fear—fear because Ren hadn’t turned tail and run as he’d supposed he would.Ren almost snorted.Had he really expected such a meek response from a Knight such as himself?He would teach the Admiral to respect the Force.

He would begin with a hands-off demonstration.

Fyl’s eyes widened considerably, his pupils dilating to almost cover his irises as Ren opened his palm.The pressure on Fyl’s throat would be firm and unyielding, yet he still took in enough air to cough and scratch in a bid to free himself from fingers that weren’t there.He wouldn’t die, but he would know fear. _Perfect_.

“You misunderstand, _Admiral_ ,” Ren said.“I am in command here.You are nothing.”

Fyl turned a splotchy purple before Ren released him, gasping and sputtering on the previously pristine floor of the bridge.Hux would have flown into a fit over the mess.The thought had Ren kicking the Fyl’s side, aware that all eyes were on them at the moment.Fyl had the sheer lack of spine to _whimper_ at the gesture, and Ren kicked him again.Hux would have approved.

His fixation on the General came to the forefront of his mind with worrying clarity.

“Setting a course for the Motlyyl system,” a voice said.Ren recognized Lieutenant Kader’s voice.So Hux hadn’t taken all of his officers with him to Starkiller. _Interesting_.That likely meant that Hux would be receiving reports of Ren’s progress.Of course, Hux would have received reports anyway—from Fyl, likely, though Ren knew he was supposed to write some himself.Kader’s presence meant that Hux was hoping for something other than the standard fare.

_What are you looking for, General?_ Ren wondered.

He _really_ needed to consider Hux in greater detail, but not now.Later.

Fyl tried to stand.It was a weak effort all around, but the thought of Hux and Kader had something else turning in Ren’s mind.

“I might remind you as well,” Ren said, “that General Hux outranks you.I wonder what he would do if he’d heard you now?”

Ren inclined his head in Kader’s general direction.Fyl looked as well, and Ren knew that the red in Fyl’s face wasn’t merely from asphyxiation.

“Consider your position, Admiral,” Ren said, taking a step back.“I hope to see better from you in the future.”

* * *

_Twelve minutes,_ came the notification on Hux’s datapad.  He snorted lightly at Kader’s brief report.  It had taken Fyl all of twelve minutes to make an absolute fool of himself.

_“That upstart General”_ , Kader wrote, _Ren nearly killed him_.

That stopped Hux short.

_Repeat dispatch_ , he ordered.

_Fyl disregarded Ren’s orders in favor of following his own course and insulted you in the process.Ren put him in his place._

Hux frowned.There was no good way to ask if Ren had put Fyl “in his place” because he’d disregarded Ren’s command or because he’d insulted Hux.

_Ridiculous_ , Hux thought as he realized what he was considering.Ren had never worried about anyone other than himself.He and Hux were alike in that way, if in no other.As it happened, the question of why Ren had made a violent spectacle, as Hux expected he had, was likely unanswerable.Ren was fond of doing things for foolishly arbitrary reasons that were likely mysterious not only to those around him but also to himself.He was a mad dog on Snoke’s leash, nothing more, but nothing less.

Whatever Ren was up to was no longer Hux’s business, however.He ran an encryption on Kader’s reports and relocated the files to his private databank.No sense in anyone else seeing this, and no sense in Hux looking at it again in the near future.There was too much other work to be done to worry about the _Finalizer_ ’s current mission.

Starkiller was coming along smoothly and right on schedule.Engineers had been hopeful to complete preparations early, in fact, but a blizzard had rendered exterior work impossible for a day and a half.They were still shoveling snow out of one of the reactor cores, though the engineers were quick to point out that neither the snow nor the cold had done any damage.

Hux said nothing, though he wondered why such an impossibility would be mentioned at all if it were in fact impossible.He made a mental note to check over the repair records for weather-induced damages.If there was a flaw in the plans, he needed to know about it sooner rather than later, the pride of his engineers be damned.

_Ren would have killed them_ , Hux thought to himself.He frowned at the notion as something clicked in his mind.

_Ren wasn’t there_.He’d been a near constant plague on Hux’s senses for the duration of his stay aboard the _Finalizer_ , something that Hux had resented immensely, and now he was… Gone.Just like that.

The fleeting happiness this afforded Hux disappeared when he realized he was as good as daydreaming.If he could afford to wax poetic about the absence of the single most odious creature in the service of the First Order, he could work.

* * *

The thought of meditating without Hux onboard had Ren twitching.  He desperately wanted to sink into himself, hollow himself out as he hadn’t been able to do for some time.  Fyl radiated fear from one end of the _Finalizer_ to the other, and the atmosphere was still all wrong, but could it really be possible?  Could Ren meditate in peace without threat of intrusion?

He was almost afraid to settle himself in to try, but there was no one to stop him and no one but Snoke, or the Snoke in his head, to judge him for his failures.

Ren resolved to meditate as he returned to his quarters from the bridge.He took the most efficient route to the command quarters, walking fast and with a purpose so that all who found themselves in his way got out of it just as quickly.He had already begun lapsing inward without even really trying—Ren had forgotten that such a thing was possible through the Force without Hux in the way of things—when his attention was drawn abruptly out of himself.

He stopped just as abruptly, confused.What he was sensing didn’t make the slightest bit of sense, and a chill crept up his arms.Ren walked a few paces forward, the sense of wrongness increasing with each step.

There was something very wrong with Hux’s private quarters.

Ren had passed them every day for the duration of his stay aboard the _Finalizer,_ sometimes more than once.His own quarters were just three corridors down, but he’d made a habit to walk past Hux’s if only for the chance to annoy the General with his _noise_ , as Hux would put it, on the off-chance that he was inside.

Now Hux was gone, Ren knew that, but something was there in his rooms.Ren sensed a cacophony of—something.Itpositively _screamed_ with tension and rage, as if—as if Hux were still inside.

_What?_

Ren approached the door and focused.There was no one within—nothing alive, at any rate—and why should there be?Hux was the only one with card access to his own quarters, and they’d unloaded him like extra cargo at Starkiller nearly half an hour ago.As far as Ren knew, no one but Hux had ever been inside— _except Mikoto_ , Ren thought, suddenly sour.

On an impulse, Ren reached into the security mechanism with the Force and overrode the code.The doors slid open with a hiss, allowing Ren to slip inside.

He almost wished he hadn’t.

Sensations bounced off of the walls like bolts from a blaster.They were myriad and shapeless—anger and determination and—There was no discernible point of origin—no, that wasn’t right, Ren realized.There had been something sitting on the table by Hux’s bed; that was where these things were coming from.Just as the thought occurred to him, Ren felt a barrage of pure hatred hitting him square in the face before ricocheting off of the walls and coming back to hit him again.

In moments, he was back in the hallway, breathing hard.The absolute chaos within Hux’s quarters would have given the Utapaun whirlwinds a run for their money for their ferocity.Ren had been less shaken leaving an ion storm than witnessing this, this…

Ren considered going back inside.What he’d just seen was impossible—without the Force.

But Hux wasn’t sensitive.He couldn’t have generated such a thing.No.

Ren turned and strode down the hall, substantially faster than he’d moved before.He didn’t understand, and Hux was no longer aboard to ask.

_You wouldn’t have asked even if he were here_ , Ren’s mind told him, helpful as always. _You didn’t have the courage earlier._

Ren entered his own quarters and nearly threw his helmet across the room in his anger.Though distance helped—whatever was in Hux’s space seemed confined to it—he could still hear it.Leave it to Hux to make Ren’s life a _living hell_ without even being there to enjoy the fruits of his labor.He had to have orchestrated this. _Prick_.

_He doesn’t have the Force, you fool_ , Ren reminded himself. _You’re too weak_.

At that moment, Ren wasn’t sure who he hated more: Hux or himself.

* * *

It was nearly 0300 when Hux yawned.

0300.He blinked at his datapad, sure that he was seeing things, but the numbers didn’t change.He’d been working for nearly fourteen hours without cease.

As if on cue, his stomach curled up in knots.At the same time, it felt as if someone had shrunk Tatooine and shoved it down his throat, dust storms and all.Hux stood, stiff but otherwise fine, and looked about his office.

No disasters.No alarms.No one to bother him unnecessarily.All that he’d needed to know had been forwarded to him through his datapad, and he’d handled it all accordingly.He hadn’t had to speak to a single being he hadn’t planned on speaking to.

This was what leaving Ren behind felt like, then.It was as if all of Hux’s stress, all of his anger and anxiety and tension, had been sloughed off like so much dead skin.Had he been a lesser man, he might have smiled.

As it was, Hux merely stretched and headed to the adjoining ‘fresher.His breath smelled like death, something he remedied immediately after he drank several glasses of water, but the thought of eating merely turned his stomach.

_“Eat, boy_ , _”_ Hux could hear his father saying. _“You’ll never lead with a frame like that.”_

_He’s dead_ , Hux thought, even as he refrained from cursing aloud.His mood suddenly shot, he snagged his datapad from where he’d left it on his desk and walked to bed.

_A cigarette would be nice_ , he thought, and a new pulse of anger shot through him.

Pushing his hair back, Hux returned to his work.He would work until his thoughts were meek and fuzzy with sleepiness and satisfaction, and then he would rest.

(That, specifically, would happen precisely twenty-nine hours later, at which point Hux would soldier through and finish his shift before collapsing in his bed, but Hux couldn’t know that yet.)

Still, thirty-seven hours later, Hux would sleep the sleep of the dead as he hadn’t for months—as he hadn’t since he’d been forced to _cordially invite_ one Kylo Ren onto the _Finalizer_.

* * *

(Thirty-seven hours later, Ren would be sleep-deprived and no closer to finding the map to Skywalker.  _Damn Hux, damn him, damn him—_ )


	6. Rage, Rage (Pt. 2)

Hux had never hated Kylo Ren so much as he hated him _right now_.

Four days.Four blessedly empty days of silence, obedience, and order punctuated only by Kader’s reports. _Mission failure_ , Kader had sent, nearly two days ago.Had anyone really expected anything else?The _Finalizer_ would be arriving back at Starkiller any moment now, and not an instant too soon: Hux was ready to tear his hair out in frustration.

As it happened, there was very little for him to do on Starkiller.He was no engineer, and while he was a quick study, there was no way he could properly go and work on any one part of his glorious weapon himself.He had men for that, and even setting that aside, it wasn’t his job.There was a hierarchy, an order, and…

That first night, when he had worked until 0300 and then kept going, he’d been, dare he say it, _happy_.He had his work, his duties to attend to, and he did so flawlessly.After that, though, there had been nothing. _Nothing_.Hux did not do well without a job with which to occupy his time.He found himself growing short tempered, _irritable_ even.Entirely unlike him.

And it was all Ren’s fault.

Undoubtedly.It had to be.Somehow, that manic _moron_ had done this—he’d made Hux into _this_ , this person who didn’t remember how to handle his time.Hux was constantly prepared for the next explosion, for his adversary to come around the corner with his odious presence and his brute physicality.To have that taken away felt like a trick or a test at best.

The next time he saw Ren, he was going to kill him.

(Unbeknownst to Hux, Ren had resolved to do much the same four days earlier.)

Without any particular aim—Hux refused to call himself _aimless_ ; aimlessness suggested vagrancy and idleness, which were choices, whereas this was decidedly _not_ —Hux found himself roaming Starkiller.He needed the technicians to work faster.He hadn’t heard from Snoke—admittedly, it was rare that Snoke spoke to him personally, without Ren present—but no one else needed to know that.

No matter that his routine checks did more to terrorize the crew than speed them along.They had grown lax without his presence.Regrettably, his need for results couldn’t turn his technicians into robots or speed them beyond the measure of human ability, but they needed to move _faster_ , didn’t they understand?

The truth, of course, was that Hux very much wanted to blow up a system _right now_.He almost didn’t care which, though Hosnian Prime and its surrounding worlds had been weighing on his mind.He wanted to see his superweapon in action—elegant death, a beam of low-penetrance radiation forced to travel fast through space to cataclysmic effect.He craved the sight of it.He wanted to turn his transmitter to every frequency across the galaxy to hear fearful reports of the spreading radiation, of the deadly invisible plague, because it wouldn’t just be his chosen system that perished—oh, no, it was too wonderful to be contained to just one system.Death would spread like a disease to _neighboring_ systems, to the New Republic’s allies.The whole of the galaxy would be full of terrified immigrants looking for homes, for something to _anchor_ them.The New Republic had failed them and so they would turn, with their dirty palms and tearful eyes, to the merciful First Order for succor.

The gaping, radioactive hole where Hosnian Prime had once floated would serve as a reminder.

 _It will decay_ , Hux’s mind whispered. _It will fade.You will fade._

Hux silenced himself.He would not fade.He _could not_ fade.He would go down in history, the rightful ruler of the galaxy.He would establish an Empire greater than the last, one destined to exist until the dusk of time.Radiation could decay to nothing, but he would remain, a god amongst the insects that passed as men.

 _Stupid boy_ , Hux’s father snarled.

Hux smashed a wall with his fist.There was no one to see his grimace, or how he shook out his hand as pain shot through his joints in his fingers as flesh hit durasteel.He stood in his private quarters—because where else could he go? he wasn’t needed anywhere, he was _unnecessary_ —and no one could watch him without his permission.

“Soon,” he told himself.“Soon.”Soon he would take control.He would wrest control from the _sideshow_ that passed for a government in the form of the New Republic.He would save the galaxy from itself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the screen of his datapad light up. _Finalizer docking_ , Kader reported. _Ren destroyed your quarters and is coming straight to you.Fyl is dead._

Hux hit the wall again, and again, and again.

* * *

_Four days_.

Four days largely spent at the mercy of _whatever the kriffing hell_ Hux had managed to set loose in his quarters.It had to be Hux’s fault; no one else despised Ren so entirely as Hux did, and whatever was in there was designed to drive Ren _mad_.His trip down to Motlyyl had promised to be a welcome reprieve—he would retrieve the map and return triumphant and perhaps as a prize Snoke would allow him to _choke the life_ out of Hux and the rest of High Command.

But no.No map, no reprieve, no triumph.He’d taken his saber to Hux’s quarters immediately after returning to the _Finalizer_ empty-handed.He’d stood in that maelstrom of wrath and hit and hit and hit until his arms were sluggish from the effort.He was careful not to set anything on fire—Ren was mindful that excessive damage would force him to stay aboard longer than he wanted to, which was no time at all—but it was a near thing, and by the end of it, nothing in Hux’s quarters was whole.

That particular act of destruction, however, had far more severe consequences than Ren had anticipated.The sensations that bounced off the walls in Hux’s quarters had, as a direct result of Ren’s tantrum, come free of their confinement.They had seeped into the hallways and air ducts and the bridge itself.As far as Ren was aware, the crew did not notice how Hux’s vitriol had taken to careening about the ship, but Ren couldn’t _sleep_ for how Hux’s hatred and disgust bombarded him at all hours.

Fyl, who had taken Ren’s subdued nature (a direct result of sleep deprivation and fraying patience as he fought to restrain his anger lest he make matters even worse) as a cowed demeanor, had been emboldened enough to say something just before they docked.

“Not so big are you, boy,” Fyl said.“What a failure.You sulk like a child.”

There were other words, but Ren wasn’t listening to anything except Hux’s disembodied screams, which seemed to be saying _kill kill kill_.

Ren doubted Hux intended for any such message, but he didn’t care; he had never been happier to comply.

He didn’t bother using the Force.He didn’t draw his saber, either—at least, not right away.Instead, he backhanded Fyl clean across the face, splitting his cheek.He then picked up the man and began his assault in earnest: he broke ribs first, hearing them snap and crack beneath his fists as he pummeled them to nothing.Fyl nearly knocked himself out trying to headbutt his way out of Ren’s hold, trying and failing to find some purchase with which to retaliate.Ren responded by shattering Fyl’s front teeth and gouging out his eyes, crushing them between fingers.

Ren’s gloves were soaked with Fyl’s fluids as he stepped away from the screaming, writhing excuse for a human being.He kept Fyl conscious to feel the pain, but now it was time to end it.Ren finally drew his saber and cut Fyl’s head clean off the rest of him.The head fell away from the body and rolled from side to side until Ren stepped on it to still it.

The bridge was perfectly silent except for Hux’s fury, which stormed on endlessly, aimless and directionless.Had the _Finalizer_ not docked at that moment, Ren might have killed the entire crew, starting with Kader, who typed furiously on his datapad, eyes defiant.As it was, Ren forced his way onto the first shuttle down and searched Starkiller for General Hux.

 _Hux would pay_.

* * *

Another _blip_ of his datapad told Hux that Ren had landed.

 _Red_ was attached to the report as a note.Early on in their partnership, Hux had ordered the docking crews to issue color codes documenting Ren’s mood upon arrival so that Hux knew what to expect when he invariably came calling.They were fairly standard: _green_ was normal, as relaxed as Ren ever was; _yellow_ was touchy, the most frequently option; _blue_ was peculiar or abnormal in some way and generally meant that he had been training with the Supreme Leader. _Red_ meant murderous.

Well.At least they were both furious, then.Perhaps one of them really _would_ kill the other this time and it could finally be over.Hux set his datapad aside, adjusted his gloves, and straightened his hat.Ren didn’t give a damn about appearances, but Hux did, and that was what mattered.He considered leaving his quarters to head Ren off in person but ultimately decided against it.If Ren really was as angry as the docking crew claimed, then he wouldn’t hesitate to make an absolute spectacle of their upcoming and inevitable confrontation.That could only lead to damaged equipment and low morale.

No, Hux would wait right where he was, in his own quarters.With that decided, he returned to his desk and sat down.He was too fixated on Ren’s imminent appearance to get any work done, not that there was anything left to do.At least Ren would be a pleasant distraction.

Hux marveled at the thought.To look on the arrival of Ren with anything other than disgust was beyond disturbing.

 _But it’s something to do_ , Hux’s mind told him.

Hux scowled and resolved to kill Ren the moment he laid eyes on him.

* * *

Starkiller was unnervingly quiet.  The snow outside muffled most noise, to be sure, but even inside, there were low conversations and low buzzes and low, low, low—almost no sound.  Silence.

The void roared in Ren’s ears.

He reached through the Force, searching for Hux.Hux tended to project himself everywhere, leaving radially-expanding traces that led back to the point source of himself.Ren reached for those and came up short.

It struck Ren, then, why Starkiller seemed so quiet: Hux’s normal energy, the thing that infused the _Finalizer_ and set the tone, was conspicuously absent on Starkiller.Ren couldn’t feel the pulse, frenetic and zealous.Whatever heart Starkiller beat in tune with, it wasn’t Hux’s.

Ren changed tactics.He cornered the nearest officer—one of the docking crew, a chief in charge of one of the hangar bays—and reached into his mind.The officer gasped audibly at the intrusion, his underlings staring at Ren in shock and fear.Ren probed with about as much finesse as a tulrus, not that he cared.

Images, their edges blurred by fear, rose to the forefront of the officer’s mind.Hux had spent a restless four days, it seemed—but he could be located in his quarters. _Perfect._

Ren released the unfortunate officer, who took in haggard breaths and stared at Ren as if he were something impossible.Without another thought toward the officer or to anyone else in his immediate vicinity, Ren strode away from the hangar and toward the officers’ halls.

While the desire to _strangle the life_ out of Hux was still at the forefront of Ren’s mind, something else had come up.He had questions—questions that needed answering.Whatever was on the _Finalizer_ was absent from Starkiller; Hux was not Hux?Ren couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it, and it made him even angrier.He thought of Fyl, of being saddled with an incompetent commander, then promptly dismissed the thought when he determined that it presumed Hux to be the competent alternative.Hux was a zealot, a madman, and a sadist.Nothing more.

Ignoring the fact that none of those qualities prevented him from serving as a competent general and commander, Ren continued clomping through the halls, bodily forcing troopers, droids, and officers alike out of his way.In truth, no one tried to stop him, though he attracted several stares.

 _Let them_ , Ren thought viciously.They would see him, and after, they would know he had killed the General.


	7. The Sound and the Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ren and Hux clash.

The closer Ren came to Hux’s quarters on Starkiller, the better he could feel him.The tendrils of thought that emanated from him were weak, but they were there as Ren approached.He wondered wildly if Hux was ill, though it could hardly explain all that had happened.Regardless, Hux was _muted_ somehow—altered, softened, _other_.

As soon as Ren overrode the security on Hux’s door, all of that changed.

Ren, so focused on Hux and the strange ripples he sent through the Force, failed to notice the blaster in Hux’s hands until it was too late.Hux shot, Ren reached out with the Force to stop the bolt, only for Hux—not himself physically, but _Hux_ , the feelings that had been on the _Finalizer_ —to slam into him.The distraction was enough that he lost control of the blaster bolt, and that, too, struck him full in the chest.

It would have required more than that to bring Ren to his knees, but it was enough for him to jump, lurching forward, coughing into his mask.It had stung.In front of him, Hux cursed, lowering the blaster.

With a growl, Ren reached out with the Force.After all that he’d been put through, how _dare_ Hux strike at him and in such a cowardly fashion?It was clear that he’d orchestrated all of this, and he would _pay_ —

Hux’s pale skin turned a splotchy red in moments, and he dropped the blaster altogether.His reddened skin didn’t match his hair, though Ren had imagined that it would.Through his rage, Ren recognized that Hux felt like himself again—that the _world_ felt like itself again.Starkiller pressed in on all sides, all machinery and steam and Empire, toil and sweat and the terror of reconditioning.It was _loud_ , so loud, Ren wanted to cover his ears and curl into a ball on the floor.

Before him, Hux failed to radiate anything other than abject hatred.There was no fear, no sadness, not even a trace—

Ren reached into his mind and heard, with stunning clarity, _Finish it, you useless clod._

Startled, Ren released his hold.Hux didn’t fall to his knees, though it was a near thing.He coughed, gasping for breath as Ren took a step back, shaken.He prepared to speak just as Hux righted himself.

“I—”

Hux lunged at Ren like a crazed beast.He was smaller than Ren, and substantially weaker, but he propelled himself like the cannons he was so fond of to smash Ren in the sternum.Grunting, Ren retaliated with a wild haymaker, which Hux neatly ducked as he took Ren’s legs out from under him.

Both on the ground, Hux scrambled to pin Ren.He fought dirty, with fists and absolutely no finesse, but here, Ren had the advantage.He withstood the blows to the front of his mask, which no doubt did more damage to Hux’s fists than anything else, to wrap his hands around Hux’s waist.Hux let out a shrill noise as he was suddenly pinned on his back, Ren using his weight to hold him down.

“Damn you,” Hux cursed.He thrashed as he tried to land a hit somewhere that would stick.His eyes were wild and his hair had come undone.Somewhere along the line, he’d lost his hat.“Damn you, _damn you_ …”

Ren sat back, using the Force to hold Hux’s arms down.Hux strained against the invisible bonds, still snarling and spitting curses.A sheen of sweat covered his forehead, and his collar was damp from the exertion.

“General,” Ren said.He sounded calmer than he felt.“We have much to discuss.”

Hux huffed.“Get off of me, Ren,” he ordered, speaking through his teeth.His arms jerked to no avail.“Now.”

There was no time like the present, Ren figured, and there was no way to make this encounter any worse without someone dying.

“Why did you lie?” Ren asked.The question came out with substantially less hostility than he’d intended.Hux merely stared up at him, confusion rolling off of him as some of his anger withdrew.“You told Admiral Mikoto the _Finalizer_ had been damaged by asteroids.”

Hux rolled his eyes.“Do I really need to explain?” he asked.Ren said nothing.“You are a child, _Ren._ Your outbursts hurt morale, and they have the potential to damage the legitimacy of the First Order.”Ren wanted to laugh at that, but Hux continued, “Keeping your messes legitimate is crucial to this endeavor.If the rest of High Command learns how little you respect out infrastructure, there will be serious questions and dissent amongst the ranks.You engender chaos, and we need order.I assumed you understood that much.”

Ren pursed his lips, though Hux couldn’t see so much through the mask.From the floor, Hux glared at him as if he were not the one physically restrained.

“What did you do to the _Finalizer_?”Confusion again crossed Hux’s mind, but this time, Ren had no easy explanation for what he meant.Without considering the consequences, Ren used the Force to reach into Hux’s mind.

“Get out,” Hux snarled, “don’t you dare, get—”

Ren shoved the memory of the _Finalizer_ to the forefront of Hux’s mind, and Hux _screamed_.His mind fought the intrusion to no avail, and he redoubled his efforts to come free of his restraints, but Ren pushed down hard, unwilling to let him up until he had his answers.

When he decided that Hux had seen enough to understand what he was talking about, Ren pulled back out.The memory could not be safely removed as it had been transferred—memory alteration tended to alter personality in dramatic and unfortunate ways, and besides, the Supreme Leader had expressly forbidden Ren from manipulating Hux in any way through the Force—but it was lessened without Ren driving it.

Still, Hux spat curses and breathed hard as he said, “What in the _kriffing hell_ was that?”

He meant it, Ren understood.He hesitated, confused—hadn’t Hux done this?—and his control slipped.At once, Hux’s wrists were free, and he lunged up much as he had flown forward earlier, a mess of limbs with little coordination but a clear goal.

Ren found himself on his back, Hux’s hand wrapped around his throat.

“What did you do?” Hux demanded.Sweat dripped down his nose and cheeks, and a few errand strands of hair hung in his face.Were it not for the uniform, he would have resembled any common thug, bestial and grotesque.All he needed was a knife, and then he would have looked a right savage.Ren hated him.

“You did,” Ren said.He made no effort to throw Hux off, aware that Hux would merely continue to try to fight a battle he could not win, and instead held Hux’s wrist firmly, ensuring that he could do no damage.“Your quarters were full of your rage.”

“My rage,” Hux said, disbelieving.“Don’t be absurd.Rage is not tangible.”

“You felt it,” Ren insisted.

“You showed me something,” Hux said, “one of your Force-fueled tricks.You don’t scare me, _Ren._ ”

Ren flipped them then.“The Force is no _trick,_ General.”

Hux laughed, baring his teeth.“Then you’re mad,” he said, “if you believe— I’m no Jedi.I cannot turn thin air into weapons for my own amusement.”

“Do you find this amusing?” Ren snarled.

Hux brought his free fist up to smash into Ren’s chest, about where the blaster bolt had struck him earlier.It wasn’t enough to move him, but it hurt, and it showed. 

 _Weakness_ , Snoke said—did not say, would have said, were Ren still worth the precious time and effort it would have taken to initiate contact— _you are weak_.

“You were in my quarters,” Hux snarled as Ren got a grip on his other wrist, pinning it above Hux’s head with the other.It was less elegant than using the Force, but if he got distracted again, his hands wouldn’t disappear.Hux tried to buck his hips up to throw Ren, but Ren was the heavier of the two, and he had no intention of moving.

“Yes,” Ren said, unapologetic.“They were full of your rage. Your hatred.”

“Unlikely,” Hux said.He might have been spitting poison.“I’ve hated you plenty while you were gone.”

“It was there.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

Ren tightened his grip on Hux’s wrists and watched a grimace cross Hux’s face at the shot of pain.

“Why do you care so much?” Hux demanded.“What are you doing?”

Ren didn’t relent as he said, “I can’t sleep.I can’t meditate, I can’t so much as _think_ —”

“I didn’t believe you so much as tried to think,” Hux said, mouth contorting into a feral sneer.“I’m impressed.”

“This is your fault!” Ren shouted.Hux tried to throw him again, but Ren refused to budge.“So loud, and everywhere—”

“I’m loud?” Hux demanded.“Have you heard yourself?You’re a menace.”

Ren took in a deep breath and let it out, willing himself not to kill Hux.As much as he wanted to, Snoke would be furious.Below him, Hux did the same, though Ren doubted Hux had any reservations about murder.He’d never feared Snoke, and Ren didn’t think he was about to start now.

Still, it was Hux who made to move first.

“Get off,” Hux ordered.He spoke slowly now, almost carefully.

Centering himself as much as he could, Ren peeled himself off of Hux, ready to strike back with the Force if necessary.

For a long moment, Hux did not move.He rolled his wrists experimentally, flexed his toes, and then came to his feet.He retrieved his hat from where it had fallen on the floor.Rather than put it back on as Ren had expected—Hux was always so worried about appearances, never about the truth—he brushed it off and placed it on his desk.When Hux bent to retrieve the blaster, Ren tensed.

“I’m not going to shoot you again,” Hux said.Regardless of intent, Ren moved the blaster himself, setting it on the far end of Hux’s desk where they had equal distance to cover to retrieve it.

“There,” Hux said.He rolled his wrists, adjusting his sleeves and his gloves, then ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to put it back into order.He stretched his arms, then his back, which popped.He did it again, then fell into parade rest.“Now.Much better.Perhaps we could have this talk like civilized people.”

“You shot me.”

“In my defense, I heard you were coming to kill me.”

Ren could say nothing in his defense.“I still could,” he said.

“But you haven’t,” Hux said.“You’ve had several opportunities.Why?”

“I had questions that needed answering,” Ren said.It wasn’t a complete lie.

Hux turned away to survey the office at the fore of his quarters.Miraculously, only the desk was even slightly askew, though Ren could not see the other rooms in the suite.There appeared to be no evidence that they’d fought, or that they had nearly killed one another.Ren followed Hux’s line of sight through the transparisteel out to the frozen wastes of the base, where there were snow drifts and trees as far as the eye could see.

“To clarify,” Hux said, “there was—something—in my quarters aboard the _Finalizer_.Is it still there?”

“No,” Ren admitted.“I— When I destroyed your quarters, after returning from Motlyyl, it got out.It seems to have returned to you.”

Hux stopped at that.He allowed his hands to fall from parade rest and brought them to chest height.He looked at his gloves as if they held all of the answers.

“Curious,” he said.

Ren crossed the short distance between them.“What?” he demanded.

Hux frowned.He debated telling Ren, that much was clear.Ren was prepared to take the answer from Hux’s mind before he started talking.

“I have felt,” Hux said, speaking sharply, “curious since arriving here.”Ren had no idea what that meant, and he tensed.He didn’t like not understanding.“Curious,” Hux repeated.He turned to Ren.Whatever he felt failed to show in his face, which was blank and impassive.“I expect your report from Motlyyl by 0800 tomorrow,” he said.“You’re dismissed.”

Ren stood up a little straighter.“You have no power over me, General.”

“You’re in my quarters and you have nothing to say for yourself.You failed to retrieve the map, fallen prey to some mystical thing you’ve attributed to me, of all people, and on top of that, the _Finalizer_ will need repairs— _again_.”Hux’s hands were behind his back, but Ren could tell that he was clenching his fists as he spoke.“I’ve no use for you.”

Ren stepped closer.“If what happened aboard the _Finalizer_ happens again, there will be no power in the galaxy that will stop me from destroying you.”

Hux smiled thinly. _No fear_ , Ren thought. _Still no fear_.

“I sincerely doubt that,” he said.He looked back toward the transparisteel.

Ren wanted to leave, but since Hux had told him to go, he stubbornly refused to.

“What was it?” he asked.

“I already told you, you’re mad,” Hux said.“Assuming there was anything there, I have no worldly idea what it was.”

“There was something,” Ren said, “on the table.By the bed.”

Hux paled slightly, his eyes flashing, though that might have just been the change in light from outside.It was getting late, and the sun broke the cloud cover in intervals.

“That,” Hux said, “is none of your concern.”

Ren raised a hand in silent threat.Hux glared at him, then turned fully toward the transparisteel.

“Cigarettes,” Hux said, looking outside.“There was a carton of cigarettes.”

 _Mikoto_ , Ren thought.

“You wanted to kill her.”

“I still might.”

“Your hatred is strong and poorly controlled,” Ren said.“If this happens again, I cannot speak to the consequences.”

Hux laughed slightly.“I have perfect control,” he said.“If you’ve truly run out of inspiration to insult me, I suggest you leave before you make yourself look a right fool.”

Ren hesitated.“You would have made a remarkable Sith,” he said.Hux stiffened, thrown off balance.Ren meant it, though he wasn’t entirely sure why he’d said it.(A combination of sleep-deprivation and anger and sadness and isolation and—)

“Good night, General Hux,” Ren said.His vocoder failed to pick up the crack in his voice as he retreated.

Hux turned away from the window, watching him.

“Good night, Ren,” Hux said, voice neutral.

Ren retreated to the hallway, heard the doors to Hux’s quarters slide shut.Outside, away from Hux, Ren allowed himself a shuttered breath before he fled to his own space, eager to be alone.


	8. The Sleep of Reason

Hux couldn’t sleep.

 _Your hatred is strong and poorly controlled_.

Hux had magnificent control.He’d always been in control, from early childhood on through his entire adult life.A lapse in control invited others to come and plant a knife in his back.Too much depended on his continued success for such a thing as uncontrolled anger.

Ren had been right, though.He boiled with hatred, anger, and rage. _Your hatred is strong_ —Ren had no idea, or maybe he did.Hux didn’t care.He couldn’t remember the last thing he hadn’t hated on sight.

Or—that was a lie, and an ill-conceived one at that.Hux had liked plenty of things from the start: the _Finalizer_ , Starkiller, his greatcoat with his stripes on the sleeve, that orange tabby he’d nearly taken in on impulse while on shore leave at Naboo.That had been years ago, when Hux was a captain.He hadn’t remained one for long.Snoke had taken a personal interest in his career, much to the chagrin of his commanding officers and peers.

 _Dead weight always rises to the top_ , they said behind his back, eager to make light of his work.They cursed his progress all the while ignoring their own hypocrisy.The words didn’t sting, but they sunk in, and Hux fought to ensure that they would never be true.He would never be dead weight.

He still remembered that cat, though.It was a peculiar creature, small and furry and unlikely to survive on its own.His father would have called it a lesser species and eaten it for breakfast, but Hux, against every fibre of his being, liked it.

It was a stray pet, or so the woman who’d been selling fruit nearby had informed him.The owners had put it out before moving to—where had they moved?

 _Hosnian Prime_ , Hux remembered.Naboo’s economy was so poor, even First Order officers were welcomed with open arms because they had money to spend.The family who had put out the cat—Hux imagined some couple, wealthy supporters of the New Republic—had abandoned a creature that had grown entirely dependent on them and moved to Hosnian Prime.

The cat’s fur had been soft when Hux had bent to pet it.It was sociable enough, though it was missing half an ear—“for trying to steal Parson’s dinner,” the woman selling fruit had said.Hux had never learned who Parson was, nor did he care, but he remembered the name all the same.

Hux rolled over in bed, willing himself to sleep.He didn’t want to think about the cat he’d left behind on the streets of Naboo.It had followed him for a ways—Hux had always felt guilty about that, about getting its hopes up when he wasn’t going to take it in—before turning off onto a side street, never to be seen again.

He thought about the cat, sometimes.It was against regulation to keep a pet, or any sort of object intended for comfort.Of course, hardly any of the officers abided by the rules.It was one of the many perks of promotion, one that no one openly discussed but everyone knew: the higher you went, the more responsibility you shouldered, the better you lived—while you lived.New recruits got pallets for beds in shared spaces; officers had mattresses to themselves; Hux had a bed that took up nearly half a suite.His sheets were soft, and there were no cameras anywhere in his quarters.He could have a cat, if he wanted one.

At the time, though, he had been a captain, a middling officer.He couldn’t have taken the cat, even if the memory of that lovely fur had been burned into his skin.

With a groan, Hux flipped over, burying his face into his pillow.He didn’t want to think about the cat.This was all Ren’s fault.

_So loud, and everywhere—_

_You would have made a remarkable Sith._

Hux glared at the ceiling.What had Ren meant by that?Hux had the suspicion that it had been intended as a compliment, though only in Ren’s mind would a comparison to wizards high on their own magic tricks serve as such.Hux knew more about the Sith than most, if only because Snoke adamantly supported the continued presence of Force-users in the galaxy.He wanted them to subscribe to the same program he’d gotten Ren into—neither a Jedi nor a Sith, but somewhere in between.Snoke had lost Hux somewhere around describing Ren as an empty vessel—of course he was empty, he had about as much brains as a Twi’lek whore high on _thalsi_ —but Hux had little idea what that had to do with the Force, not that he understood the Force in the first place.

Hux imagined cursing loudly in Ren’s face—this really was all his fault—then sat up.

Wait.If Ren thought Hux was loud, what if…?

“Oh,” Hux said, somewhat stupidly. _Oh_.

Hunched over in his bed, it seemed so moronically obvious. _Ren could read minds_.Ren had even _told him._ He’d heard all of Hux’s projected thoughts. _And_ , Hux thought bitterly, _likely some that he hadn’t intended on throwing out there_.After all, he’d hardly been shouting his mental processes regularly, at least, not anymore.Early on, he had violently fantasized about murdering Ren, but that was largely in the past.He’d thought Ren to be posturing with his threats.

Now entirely unable to sleep, Hux swung his legs over the side of the mattress.The cold of the floor hit the soles of his feet hard, and he flinched at the sensation.He hoisted himself out of bed and walked out to his office, where he and Ren had fought earlier.

If Ren had really wanted to kill him, there would have been nothing Hux could have done to defend himself.Hux was hardly injured, though, save the bruises on his chest and wrists.Ren could have tortured him, beat him, paralyzed him—

 _Mad dog on a leash_ , Hux thought absently, then quashed the thought.Ren had almost certainly heard that. _What a bother_.

Hux leaned against the transparisteel and shut his eyes.His entire body felt sore from his fight with Ren, but his mind refused to quiet down.He smiled to think that, at the very least, Ren was probably also awake.Hux might be suffering alone, but he wasn’t the only one who was suffering.

* * *

Ren lay on the floor in his quarters and stared at the ceiling.

Across Starkiller, Hux stood in the center of a radially expanding whirlwind.He was anxious, dissatisfied—and, as usual, it bled into everything around him.

Were Ren not so damn tired, he might have found it remarkable.Hux didn’t have a single iota of Force-sensitivity, yet he had a profound effect on the Force as it flowed _around_ him.He was a rock in an ocean: the Force was molded and shaped by him, yet he had no capacity to act except as he was.

Ren prayed for Hux to fall sleep.At least then Hux couldn’t actively inflict himself on others, though he seemed to be better than he had been before.It was an improvement, at the very least, over the _Finalizer_ for the past four days.

Ren rubbed at his eyes, then at his whole face.He felt filthy, but no amount of scrubbing his skin would help.He needed to meditate, needed to hollow himself out and allow the Force to fill him, but Hux was nearby, loud and obnoxious, probably on purpose (again) now that he knew it got under Ren’s skin.

It was going to be a very, very long night.

* * *

The next morning, Hux didn’t bother allowing his alarm to go off.  He didn’t need it—he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep.  He’d spent the entire night watching the clouds pass over Starkiller, stuck in the same loop of thoughts.  It was maddening and excessive and Hux tore at his hair trying to get it to stop.

When the horizon began to lighten, Hux waited in his office to see the sunrise.The early morning sun was powerful, bright, and orange at the edge of the world.He knew better than to stare at something so blindingly vibrant, but stare he did until it remained behind his eyelids when he blinked.

The day was cold, and windy.The cold oozed in through the transparisteel, and Hux shivered even though inside it was still warm.

 _Eat something, boy_ , his father snarled. _Work harder._

Hux leaned against the transparisteel and took in a breath. _Dead_ , he told himself. _Still dead_.

Outside, the trees thrashed in the wind, slamming into one another with each gust.The alpha shift would be taking over for the beta shift within the hour as night faded into day.Work at Starkiller could not cease until the weapon was finished, for only then could the New Republic be brought to its knees.

 _Extra_ , Hux’s mind whispered. _They work without you.There was no crisis in the night, nothing to do.You’re superfluous, unnecessary_.

“I need caf,” Hux told no one.He dressed, pulling on his gloves so hard that the leather pinched his fingers, and put on a face befitting a General of the First Order.

* * *

Ren had taken over one of the practice rooms at 0100, and he had no intention of leaving until either he or the room broke.

Starkiller buzzed everywhere around him.He felt the circuits in his fingers and his toes, the endless patrols in his mind, the constant need for work, work, work in his lungs and in his stomach and down in his bones as he pushed himself harder and harder.

Strength training came easy to him.It wasn’t exactly mindless, but it forced him to use his body, to fight with every single breathe to get stronger.

 _Power and control_.He needed to separate Hux’s feelings, strong and potent as they were, from his own.He needed to meditate, needed to hollow himself out, needed to think so that he could stop thinking—

 _Focus_.He lifted the weights in front of him, watching himself in the mirror.He was a right wreck, his hair plastered to his face, his body soaked with sweat.He’d shed layers as he’d gone along, though he alternated between hot and cold.He needed sleep, and soon.He looked like hell.

The door to the training room opened.Several stormtroopers entered, only to stop short.Ren dropped his weights with a _clang_ and turned to glare at them.

“Move,” Phasma ordered, speaking to her troopers.She ushered them inside, though they didn’t go far from the door.These weren’t fresh recruits, then—or, if they were, they knew a thing or three about Ren.Fear surged from them.If Ren hadn’t been so blasted tired, he might have found it energizing.

“Ah, Ren,” Phasma said, catching sight of him.She didn’t stop, but it was a near thing.Unlike Hux, she did fear him, though Ren wasn’t entirely sure why.Without the Force, they were physical equals.

With the Force…

“We’ve reserved the room,” Phasma said.Through her mask, her voice seemed flat, but Ren knew better.She was praying for his cooperation, for without it, she didn’t have a prayer unless they fought hand to hand.

Thankfully for her, he wasn’t in the mood to fight—at least, not with her.

“Very well,” Ren said.He called his belongings to himself with the Force and dressed quickly, aware of the myriad eyes watching him.

“Thank you, sir,” Phasma said, inclining her head slightly.Her tone was bland, but Ren knew that a mask equipped with a vocoder could conceal many things, including relief.

Ren slid his own mask over his head and adjusted his cloak.He nodded at her once before he stepped into the hall, running over the troopers’ minds as he left.They would not remember his face.

That Phasma was getting ready to run drills told Ren that it was late-morning, likely past 1000.While the First Order’s strictly regimented schedule had little bearing on Ren himself, it could tell him a great deal about what those around him were about to do.No doubt a team had already gone up to the _Finalizer_ to repair Hux’s quarters in preparation for his return to them, whenever that would be.The remnants of Fyl’s body had likely been disposed of—truly, that had probably happened yesterday, or during the night.Ren didn’t particularly care.Fyl was too weak to classify as an enemy, and so his disposal was boring at best, a nuisance at worst.

Ren only had time to wonder where Hux would be before he noticed a private heading straight for him, mouth set in a grim line as if she had swallowed something sour.

“Ren,” she said, stopping a good distance from him.She was rather short, and even at a distance, she had to tilt her head to look him in the face.“General Hux requests your presence in his office, sir.”

“The General?” Ren inquired.The woman was practically shaking.

 _Reports_ , she was saying. _You have to tell him about the reports, come on, Dixon, just spit it out…_

“Ah,” Ren said.“The reports.”

Her shaking stopped, and she paled.“Y-yes, sir.He wishes to speak to you.”

Ren grimaced, aware that she could not see it.He took a step toward her and she flinched.

“You are dismissed,” he said.The private all but fled.

_I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive…_

The relief that rippled behind her was clear and strong, visible in Ren’s mind as a swath of blue and the ringing of a bell.She had fully expected to be killed for the summons.Hux had likely warned her that Ren was in a mood, though he probably hadn’t mentioned that it was his fault.

Well.There was only one person Ren had any intention of taking his anger out on while on Starkiller, and he had been _summoned_ to his side.

* * *

Hux heard Ren coming before the doors were forced open and then back shut.  Hux had never thought he’d be thankful for the graceless manner in which Ren walked, but the past twenty-four hours seemed to be exempt from the laws governing reality.

“Ren,” Hux said.He was standing where he had been the night before, where he had stood that morning.In fact, the only difference, aside from the fact that he was now fully dressed and not sweating his skin off, was that he had several cups of caf under his belt.Ren didn’t know that, and if he had, he wouldn’t have cared.

“General,” Ren drawled.

“This isn’t about the reports,” Hux said.“You said that my anger was poorly controlled.Your methods of controlling your anger are far worse.”

“Did you summon me here to insult me?” Ren asked, incredulous.Did Hux truly lack a sense of self-preservation?

Hux frowned.Like the private he’d sent, he looked like he’d swallowed something terrible.

“No,” Hux admitted.“I’ve summoned you to ask for advice.”


	9. A Gentleman's Agreement

Ren might have guessed the summons to be an elaborate jest had he not known that Hux never joked.His appearance confirmed it: Hux looked clear-eyed but entirely serious about the matter, whatever it was—Hux had yet to elaborate on that point.Exhaustion and frustration rolled off of him, though they hardly showed except in the pinched edge to his mouth.When they had first met, standing under the watchful eye of Snoke—Hux had only just been promoted to general and given command of the _Finalizer_ ; Ren only remembered because the sleeve of Hux’s greatcoat had still bore the stripes of a lower rank—Ren had seen Hux’s face in action.Something Snoke said prompted it: that the two of them would be working together to achieve the dream of a unified galaxy and the supremacy of the First Order.

Ren had hardly seen a flash of resentment in Hux before it was covered up, buried as deep as his bones and his heart, if he had one.Hux hadn’t betrayed a single emotion on the surface, though they burned underneath.If Snoke knew or cared, he hadn’t shown it but Ren… Back then, Ren had actually feared those powerful feelings: Hux’s resentment, entitlement, and sense of superiority to everything.Ren hadn’t understood how Hux could stand in the shadow of the most powerful being in the galaxy and not feel small.

At that point, though, Ren had only just met Hux.He had not yet learned that Hux was lesser and base, that his rank meant nothing in the face the reality that he was just as replaceable as one of his lovingly conditioned stormtroopers.Snoke clarified so much: those things that Ren had fleetingly admired in Hux were the trappings of weakness, just like _Leia Organa’s_ haughtiness and _Han Solo’s_ cock-sure attitude.Ren had to extricate himself from those feelings, step back and hollow himself out entirely so that the Force could take him at its whim.The way of emotion, of pride and self—the path Hux stubbornly chose to follow—could only lead to a fall and to death, an end as ignominious as the very existence of the Resistance.

“Well?” Hux asked, a sharp edge to his voice.

Ren realized that he had been silent for a long time.

“You require advice?” Ren asked, speaking slowly.“On what matters?”

“If—and it is an if, Ren—I somehow did manage to,” Hux swallowed, “do something to the _Finalizer_ when I left it last, I need to know how to recreate it.”

Ren bristled. _He wanted to do it again, the bastard_.

“No,” Ren said immediately.

Hux tensed, his shoulders rising like some startled beast as he said, “If what you said was true—”

“Would you call me a liar, General?”

Hux ignored the interruption and continued, “—then I have to ensure that it only happens under controlled circumstances, if ever.Were I to somehow do it again without knowing or intending to, the consequences could be severe.”

Ren felt himself rising even as he stood perfectly still.“The only consequences you should fear,” he said, nearly growling, the thought of wrapping his hands around Hux’s neck and _squeezing_ , “are the ones that you shall face should you inflict yourself on me again.”

Hux’s grimace turned, however subtly, to a smile.“Then you agree,” he said, “that we benefit mutually from determining the cause and mechanism of action of the phenomenon you observed.”

Ren took in a breath and held it in his chest.His fleeting thoughts—so much like Hux, he thought, disgusted with himself—slipped away, scattering to all corners of his mind.Somehow, he’d managed to back himself into a corner before their argument had even begun.

“As long as you agree never to do it to me,” Ren said.He wished he sounded less like a petulant child, but there were some things that not even a vocoder could cover.

“Agreed,” Hux said readily.Ren stared at him from behind his mask.Had Hux just— “Now, how did it happen?”

“I have another condition,” Ren said quickly, “before we begin.”

Hux’s little smirk disappeared, and it would have made Ren happy did he not know that it jeopardized Hux’s chances of adhering to their agreement.He needed a way to make the terms stick so that he could finally, at long last, meditate as he ought to.Snoke would be proud.

 _No,_ Ren thought.He wouldn’t.Ren was bargaining with _Hux_ , of all people.They had to work together, but in the end, it was Ren who was meant to come out on top, who was meant to bend Hux and not the other way around.Snoke would have been disappointed in him for not just taking what he wanted.But he had been instructed not to harm Hux in any way, hadn’t he?This matter wasn’t something a simple mind trick could erase, either.

 _Weak boy,_ Snoke would have said, _always needing to be coddled, always with an excuse for not doing what is required of you.You know nothing of sacrifice, nothing of hardship—you are worthless, hopeless, useless—_

“What is it?” Hux demanded.

Ren swallowed and hoped that Hux didn’t notice the pause or take it to be a sign of weakness.“Your thoughts,” Ren said, pressing on in spite of the sick feeling in his gut.He was weak, so weak, and his lips moved of their own traitorous accord.He watched Hux’s scowl deepen as he said, “They have been violent toward me and challenging to ignore.”

Hux arched one of his eyebrows and looked as if he would speak, perhaps in his own defense, as if he had one, but he said nothing.When another few seconds passed, Ren continued, wishing he didn’t feel as if he were failing his master with each syllable.

“I would ask that you lessen those thoughts toward myself,” Ren said, feeling even more childish.Snoke’s voice rose in his mind: _You are not meant for comfort_. _Useless, useless, useless…_ “They are a distraction, and while you may wish to kill me in such creative ways, they interfere with my abilities.”

Hux snorted lightly, his exasperation suffusing the room like noxious gas.

“You want me to stop trying to get you out of my head,” Hux said.

 _Is that why he was doing that?_ Ren wondered.Had Hux really thought he would be so persistent in reading his mind, in turning him to his will?So long as they both remained useful to Snoke, they were however temporarily on the same side.It wasn’t in Ren’s interest to distract Hux from his work even for a moment.Of course, Hux didn’t seem to look at it the same way, but then again, he was weakened by emotion and pride. _Weak, so weak._ Ren willed the voice in his head—not Snoke, Snoke had no time to spare on him—to fall silent, at least for a moment.

“Fine,” Hux said, bringing Ren out of himself once more, “on the condition that you stay out of my mind under any and all circumstances.”

“I have no desire to know your thoughts,” Ren said, hardly able to keep the sneer out of his voice.“You are simple enough to understand without them.”Hux ignored the barb, but Ren could feel his resentment growing underneath his ever-smooth façade.Hux didn’t want Ren in his mind, but couldn’t stand the notion that Ren wouldn’t want to be there. _Interesting_.

“You have your terms as long as I have mine,” Hux said.“You show me how to do it again and tell me how to control it.”

“I cannot do it now,” Ren said.He watched as Hux turned pale, then a furious red, then added, “But, according to our agreement, I will approach you with instructions by the end of this week.Is that agreeable?”

Hux exhaled loudly and looked to the ceiling.His mouth moved, but he did not speak.Was he actually praying? Ren didn’t think that Hux believed in anything beyond himself.He certainly didn’t believe in the Force in the spiritual sense.

“Agreeable enough,” Hux said finally, “but as long as there’s a deadline involved in your part, I want a contract.I’ll draw one up now.”Hux reached for the datapad that sat on his desk.

“No,” Ren interrupted.

Hux glared at him.“I don’t trust you to keep to the terms.If a week comes and goes—”

“I do not contest the need for a contract.However, your document will not be binding to one such as I.”

Hux had the audacity to scoff.“I’m not signing some sort of Force-related nonsense,” he said.

“If you think so lightly about the Force, your endeavors to control it with such poor sensitivity will lead you nowhere.”

Hux’s expression might have set a lesser being on fire, but Ren stood his ground.Neither of them so much as blinked.

“If that is the case, we will,” Hux said finally, and with no small degree of frustration, “have to agree to it as gentlemen, then.”

“A gentleman’s agreement?” Ren asked.He was not unfamiliar with the idea, and yet… “I have no guarantee that you will not break terms.”

Hux straightened as if slapped.“You ought instead look to yourself,” he said, “for if anyone is going to break terms, it’s you.”

“I will not,” Ren said. _Childish, you foolish child…_

“It would be an insult to my rank to break such a contract with anyone, even one such as yourself,” Hux said, offended at the very supposition of dishonesty on his part.

Ren stared at Hux, aware that Hux stared right back.They were back at stalemate, unable to give ground or change position.This was it, then: they were going to make a tenuous verbal agreement here in Hux’s quarters while Starkiller raged all around them— _wait, wait_ —and likely each break terms before the end of the day.

 _Starkiller_.Starkiller was—

“Then we are agreed,” Hux said, extending a hand, “that in exchange for advice and instruction regarding the incident aboard the _Finalizer_ and for you to not to use the Force to look into my mind under any circumstances, I shall refrain from using what I learn against you and will further refrain from directing violent imagery and thoughts concerning you at you.”

Ren took the hand.Hux had a far firmer grip than he’d anticipated, and he squeezed back just as hard.“We are agreed.”

* * *

As soon as Ren left his quarters, Hux sat down at his desk and rested his head in his hands.  Had he been a younger man—had he been a private, perhaps, wet behind the ears and still smarting in his father’s shadow—he might have wept.

A gentleman’s agreement with _Kylo Ren_.He couldn’t imagine what he’d done to deserve such a lousy turn in life, that he’d been brought to this.Hux had just wanted to type up a written version of their oral agreement, but of course Ren had wanted to draw up some peculiar accord, probably based on some ancient Sith doctrine.The way they had settled the matter, they didn’t have a snowball’s chance on Mustafar of getting what they wanted.

Hux immediately corrected the thought: _Ren_ didn’t have a snowball’s chance on Mustafar.Ren’s own demands had been tamer than expected, and Hux foresaw no trouble meeting them.

He frowned to himself, lifting his head away from his palms to lace his fingers together.Actually, and somewhat embarrassingly, Hux thought that bringing an end to insulting and otherwise imagining Ren dying at his hand might prove slightly challenging.When he had started, they hadn’t been thoughts that had come naturally to him—he’d practiced and trained himself to think them automatically and without actively considering them.Now, they were as natural as breathing: as soon as he caught sight of Ren, the mental insults went flying, and he’d come up with some new way to kill that was both aesthetically pleasing and effective.He’d gotten good at it.

Hux sat back, picking up his datapad from where it sat on the corner of his desk.He had worried, in the moment before Ren came to his quarters, that this discussion would end with the datapad on the floor, or smashed against the wall.He was happy to have been proved wrong, at least in this instant.

The sight of several notifications from officers that required his attention within the next few hours pushed Ren out of the forefront of his mind.Hux would adhere to the agreement through the end of the week.He set a timer for a week’s time on his datapad to make sure, though he was sure he wouldn’t need it.As soon as Ren broke contract—Hux generously estimated that it would take one day—Hux would follow suit.

Ren would rue the day he broke an agreement, gentleman’s or otherwise, with General Brendol Hux, Jr.

* * *

Just outside of Hux’s quarters, Ren stood in silence and breathed.

Hux wanted information and advice.Except—no, that wasn’t quite right.He wanted _instruction_ —and in the ways of the Force, no more and no less, assuming Ren was right about what he had witnessed.Before Hux had left the _Finalizer_ four days ago, Ren wouldn’t have believed it, and yet…

 _Fool_ , Ren thought to himself.He had agreed to terms he now worried he had no hopes of meeting—assuming he was right.Maybe he wasn’t.Ren latched onto that sliver of hope like a lifeline.

Hux wasn’t Force-sensitive.Only those with Force-sensitivity could manipulate the Force, simple as that.Neither Skywalker nor Snoke had ever said anything to the contrary.Therefore, the Force couldn’t be involved.

Ren’s enthusiasm for the idea that what was aboard the _Finalizer_ had been anything other than Force-related faded.Hux and the _Finalizer_ were too ingrained on Ren’s memory.Whatever Hux had done, it had been real and palpable.As he stood in the hall outside the door, Ren still felt the aftereffects: the weight of four days without substantial rest, and then yet another sleepless night, courtesy of Hux.

The door to Hux’s quarters swept open, startling Ren.He actually jumped a little as Hux stepped out.Hux looked at Ren, blinking at him as if to dispel an illusion.In the few minutes between the end of their conversation and that moment, his face had been schooled into a perfect blank.

Ren wished he could mimic—

 _Silence_.

“Ren,” Hux said, voice neutral.

“General Hux,” Ren replied.Hux passed him, no doubt going to check on the progress of construction.Ren was tempted to follow him, but his legs wouldn’t move right away, and besides that, Hux didn’t want him there—not only that, but Ren didn’t want to follow.They had an agreement, but it didn’t mean they had to be near each other more than absolutely necessary, never mind that Ren had seen more of Hux in the past two days than he had for most of their partnership.

Feeling stiff and a little short-changed, Ren began the walk back to his own quarters.Disgust, largely aimed at himself, pricked at his fingers and toes.Between the threads of self-deprecation that gradually wound their way around Ren’s entire being, he felt unsure and more than a little uneasy.While negotiating the agreement with Hux, Starkiller had, for lack of a better word, faded.The persistent, crashing, throbbing ache that represented all of the work and effort going into the weapon at all hours, all set against the endlessly beating rhythm governed by Hux himself, had not vanished but merely softened.It was as if someone had tossed a number of blankets over Ren’s head to muffle the noise.

It almost felt _quiet_.

Ren quickened his pace, hating himself and everything around him with every step.It was too soon to tell what had happened—was happening—but he wanted to get back to his quarters before it passed.He needed to meditate and sleep.

 _Not necessarily in that order_ , he thought.His legs felt like jelly beneath him as he strode forward, eager to keep up appearances but slowly falling apart.

_Completely inept.You are a failure, Kylo Ren—a disgrace._

The door to his own quarters appeared before him.A safe distance from both the command center and Hux’s own quarters, he’d chosen the location early in construction to remain as far from Hux as possible at all times to have some hope of rest.In that moment, it seemed hardly necessary.The sound of snow falling was louder than what Ren heard around him.Inside—inside, Ren tried to ignore it.He could meditate it away.He wasn’t a failure, wouldn’t be—

The doors opened, and Ren crossed to the bed, falling over onto it without so much as removing his gloves or boots.

 _Rest_ , Ren thought, mind already drowsy with the promise of sleep, _then meditate_.

One week.He’d have one week to meditate on the matter and figure out how to get Hux to master—whatever it was he could do.One week.If he didn’t manage it in one week, Hux would go back to being himself, and Ren would have failed yet again.No doubt they’d be at each others’ throats, too.Ren wondered fleetingly if Hux would ever kill him, if he’d ever finally take the knife Ren knew Hux kept in his datapad and just come at him.

(Some days, days Ren would never acknowledge were he fully awake, he wondered if he wouldn’t just let Hux do it.He’d finally be empty then, wouldn’t he?Wouldn’t Snoke be proud?Wouldn’t it be right and good then?)

One week.Ren yawned, fumbling with the clasps on his helmet and tossing off of the bed.His hair hurt, he desperately needed to get cleaned up, and his mind was full of thoughts when he needed to be empty and ready to receive the Force—

But, instead, Ren fell into a deep, deep sleep.


	10. Lovely, Dark, Deep

Ren woke fourteen hours later. _Fourteen hours_.

He stared at the ceiling and thanked the Force; he hadn’t slept for more than five hours in one block in months—no, longer than that.(He didn’t want to think about the ramifications of that.)He swung himself out of bed, wincing as he stretched stiff arms and legs, and checked the time.

0200.Nearly dead in the middle of the sleep cycle for Starkiller.Ren took in a deep breath and lay back down.Short of meditating (which he knew he should do, but didn’t want to) or going to train (which he had done too much of) there was nothing for him to do but sleep some more.All around him, Hux’s monstrosity groaned and creaked like some sort of living, breathing creature.

Ren stared at the ceiling as if it held all of the answers.Starkiller had gone quiet when he’d made his agreement with Hux.Even now, it failed to operate at its usual volume.Why?(What had Hux done aboard the _Finalizer_?Why was it always Hux?Why, why, why…?)

He closed his eyes and rolled over onto his side, pulling his blankets back over him.They were far from plush: First Order regulation entailed little comfort, which suited Ren just fine.He wasn’t built for comfort.

Just as he thought he might go back to sleep, something echoed in his mind.He’d been dreaming when he woke up, he realized.It had been something within the dream that had woken him.If he fell asleep, it would resume.

No sooner did he realize that than sleep abandoned him, and the prospect of dreaming likewise vanished.Ren lay still, surprised.He hadn’t remembered a dream in years.Snoke had told him that they were the byproducts of an untrained mind and would disappear with time.

Perhaps, Ren considered, it hadn’t been a dream, but an errant line of thinking.That was all.After all, his mind had been trained over the course of nearly a decade now, honed and sharpened down to a fine point and focused on a single objective: purify the galaxy.Only then could it know peace, without the taint of the Jedi to skew the Force in one direction.Peace, balance, harmony, emptiness, _balance_.

Sleep eluded him.

With a sigh, Ren rose.He braced himself for the frigid varnished durasteel under his feet, but it didn’t come.He remembered, then, that he hadn’t even bothered undressing before collapsing and falling asleep.

_Pathetic_.

Ren breathed in, feeling the chill on his face, at least.He kept his quarters cold on principle; the body worked harder in the cold.When he was young, he’d gotten it into his head that the cold meant that he could train even while he slept.Though he now knew better—such a weak, foolish boy—the habit remained.

In the adjoining ‘fresher, the lights popped on as soon as the motion sensor caught Ren in the crosshairs.His face stared sullenly back at him from the mirror, placed directly before the door as it was.He regarded himself critically.

_Too much_ , he thought.He was too much of everything.His own face disgusted him.He might not have needed his mask, but at least it hid all of _this_.He looked away from his reflection and set about cleaning himself up.Under his clothes, an oily layer of grime and sweat covered his skin, the natural buildup of extended space travel.Nothing a quick scrubbing couldn’t fix.His hair needed a good washing, though he figured he could always just braid it away from his face to keep the oil from dripping down his face.The thought had him grimacing.The longer he left it unwashed, the worse it would get, and his neck would be sticky with it.A shower, then.

Even as he busied himself with stripping and washing, his mind was elsewhere.He’d made a deal with Hux.Now that he’d slept, he was quite sure that there was no easy answer to the problem.Whatever Hux had done it was—complicated.Nothing Ren had tried aboard the _Finalizer_ had been enough to dissipate it.

_Weak child_.

Ren breathed in.Meditation.That would help, much as he didn’t want to—yet another weakness of his.He wasn’t weak, and he’d prove it.

Hair dripping— _and clean_ —and body damp, Ren stepped out of the ‘fresher.He came to sit next to the foot of the bed.Meditating on something so soft—comparably, anyway—was impossible.He’d done it aboard the _Finalizer_ , but that had been in the presence of the roar of Hux.The Force required sacrifice.Pain was good, but discomfort could work in a pinch.Between the unyielding floor and the frozen bite of the air, Ren determined it would be enough.

Slowly, he found the cavern with no exit, full of cold, stinging water.The walls were nearly blacked out with evidence of his failure, and he set about washing them down, rubbing his forearms raw as he did so.Blood mixed with the water until his temperature dropped, and when his nails ripped back from scratching himself away, they merely turned white.

_Void_ washed over him. _Empty vessel, offering, void_.

Ren disappeared into the abyss of his own mind, the Force reaching up and covering his face, pressing in, obliterating, taking.

Ren—no longer Ren, no one—had no will to stop it.

* * *

When Hux woke in his quarters at 0600 on the dot, his first thought was that he felt alone.

It was a notion which gave him pause because of course he was alone.He had no lover, no concubine to warm his bed.Before he’d invited Mikoto—the thought still made his blood boil, what a mistake, what a horribly unavoidable mistake—he hadn’t laid with a single entity in…how long?

Hux rolled his neck as he sat up, the sheets pooling at his waist.Too long.His bed, altogether too large for a single person, had been empty for years.But then again, few met his specifications.He’d never been interested in fucking for the sake of fucking, and as he rose through the ranks, it had only gotten worse.Anyone who went to bed with him only wanted his good graces—money or a promotion or status or some such.Hux was ever willing to part with his salary—his liquor cabinet could attest to so much, and the whiskey he preferred didn’t come cheap—but the fact remained that most of Hux’s prospective partners wanted to use him to climb some sort of ladder, be it within or without the First Order.

Hux had no desire to be used.Regrettably, that had left very few agreeable bedfellows, and even they couldn’t be trusted to keep their mouths shut about whatever arrangement they might form.Hux abhorred the idea of the vulnerability of it all.

None of that changed how _alone_ he suddenly felt.Hux struggled to pinpoint the feeling until he determined that he was being frivolous.If he could worry about feelings and hunches and the like, he could work.

Before he got to work, though, he needed to make himself presentable.He got out of bed, wincing as the cold hit his feet and sent a shiver up his entire body, and headed for the ‘fresher.When the lights went up, he examined his reflection.Even with a full night’s sleep, he looked pale and thin.His hair only made the effect more pronounced.

_Weak_ , his father roared. _Just like your mother_.

An image of her rose in Hux’s mind.He had her hair.When was little, he’d loved it—it was a stark contrast with his father’s muddy blond, something he always thought looked dirty and unkempt.Mother’s hair was uncommon and unique, always plaited and shining.The red made them special.

_We don’t talk about mother_.Hux willed his mind to still, silence, banishing the image of a smiling woman from his head.They were dead—his father was dead.If he ignored his father’s ghost for long enough, it, too, would die.It had to.

(His mother’s ghost, at least, had never screamed at him in the dead of night.If hers persisted—)

Hux’s eyes were bright, at least.He looked awake.Good.It wouldn’t do for him to look excessively tired.

After slicking his hair back out of his face with a comb and some clear gel, he returned to his quarters to dress.Pants, undershirt, socks, garters, trousers, boots, gloves, shirt, jacket, greatcoat—all of them went on without much thought.It was a well-practiced routine, as rote as the tags hanging around his neck.

_Brendol Hux, Jr. / 0 ABY / Type-Oi / DNR_

Name, year of birth, universal organ donor, do not resuscitate.That last one had been Hux’s first decision not governed by his father.If Hux were injured in the line of duty—if he failed so badly that the enemy had reached even him—no attempt would be made to revive him.He would die of his failure.The ultimate price for the ultimate sin.His father had made a different call, but then he’d been weak—he’d had a good mind, but no sense of greatness or real power.

Hux settled his cap over his head, careful not to disturb anything else, and went to acquire his morning cup of caf.

* * *

_Come to me._

The void shivered, disturbed by the intense power in those three words.From the empty wastes of the dark, Ren regained form, his mind bleeding, bruised, and aching in the Force.

_Yes, Supreme Leader._

* * *

At 0934, a summons came through Hux’s datapad, code 0000, no other defining information.

_Snoke_.

Hux pulled his gloves a little tighter and left his station in the capable hands of the officers overseeing operations at the main weapons control.

* * *

Starkiller’s reception chamber was, in actuality, a very large conference room.  In a show of benevolence and pragmatism, Snoke had insisted that no special chamber be designed for his use.  In a similar show of pragmatic thinking, Hux had decided to use an enormous, cavernous space designed to fit every officer of the First Order at once.

Of course, Snoke’s point-blank refusal to meet with any other than Ren and Hux—and on one memorable occasion Captain Phasma—made both gestures moot.

(When Captain Phasma met Snoke for the first and only time, she did so alone.Hux and Ren had been forced to stand outside, waiting, for nearly half an hour while the two spoke.Ren had been reduced to a growling, rampaging mess afterwards, furious that he couldn’t know what had been said.Hux himself had ruined a pair of gloves as he dug his nails into his palms to avoid pacing; the fingertips on one hand had torn all of the way through.The situation had been made all the more curious by Phasma’s appearance afterward: it was obvious to both Ren and Hux that Phasma had removed her helmet, and only when they entered did she replace it.Hux had seen a glimpse of blonde hair, but little else.What was more, Phasma refused to divulge what had been said, other than that on Snoke’s orders, the conversation was to remain confidential.Ren’s rage had only been checked by the Supreme Leader himself, who ordered Ren to control his emotions lest they control him.)

Now, both Hux and Ren made their way toward the audience chamber.They met two hallways away from their destination, on the far end of the base.Both men were lost in their respective thoughts; to see the other was a genuine surprise.

* * *

Ren had been so far gone in his meditations, Snoke’s voice had startled him deeply.  He shook, and it wasn’t just his hands.  There was something inside of him, something intrinsic and important, that shook as well.  He couldn’t stop.  It was as if his very being had been electrified, bouncing back and forth and back and forth and back and forth on and on, _ad infinitum_.   It was terrible, and had the feeling had roots in anything other than the Supreme Leader, Ren would have wished it gone.  As it was, he saw it as a gift—a horrible, cruel gift, but a gift from his Master nonetheless.  At long last, his master had seen fit to speak to him, to summon him.

The sight of Hux soured his mood somewhat, as Ren had been hoping for a private audience—something he hadn’t been gifted with in over a year—but he could not be so greedy. A gift was a gift.He would be grateful.

The wave of wrath that Hux threw at him the moment they made eye contact was enough to lift his spirits, however.

_Hux broke contract_ , Ren thought, giddy.

_Wait—_

* * *

Hux rounded a corner and caught sight of Ren.  He felt himself getting angry—more out of habit than anything else, he told himself, for Ren had done nothing odious or malapropos.

_The agreement_ , Hux thought.He felt his blood pressure drop.They needed to meet with the Supreme Leader, he had no time to stop and chitchat, but this needed to be fixed—Ren couldn’t win—

_I apologize_ , Hux thought, as clearly and as slowly as he could manage.Ren came to a dead stop, and Hux quickly tried to think of something nonviolent—he had to demonstrate that he was dedicated to the agreement, didn’t he?

Orange fur came to mind—soft and not at all threatening, something meant for comfort and assurance.The darling tabby from Naboo.

Hux backpedalled from the thought as fast as he could and hoped that Ren hadn’t picked up on it.That was…private.Hux didn’t want to go into that, so he scrounged for a different memory, one not so important to him.

_Since when was the cat important?_

The only thing Hux could come up with on the spot was a birthday—his sixth.

_Not that one_ , Hux thought, but it was too late.The memory had already taken shape in his mind.

It was one of the only ones he spent at home—Hux had never considered the Academy home, though he spent substantially more time there than at home—and even though it had rained, as per usual for Arkanis, and his father was away on some mission, also as per usual, his mother had made it wonderful.She had been so glad to see him, she had baked his favorite kinds of sweets and had sung him songs he hadn’t heard in years.

_You’re going to have a sibling, Bren_ , she had told him, smiling. _What should we call them?_

_Is it a boy or a girl?_ Hux had asked.He’d been small, all gangly limbs and bony kneecaps sticking out of regulation shorts that hung loose on him.A sibling—something small he could protect, who would look up to him and admire him.He liked the idea.

She had smiled. _We won’t know_ , she said. _We’ll have to plan for all possibilities.What do you think?_

Hux had thought his mother the smartest person in the world.

It had been the last time he had seen her.

The memory took Hux by surprise much as the tabby on Naboo had.When was the last time he’d thought of that?When—why—

Ren walked abreast of him now.Hux had slowed enough that their gaits actually matched.Under normal circumstances, it bothered him—Ren was always slowed down by his ridiculous robes; he should be the faster of the two, what with his longer legs, but it was Hux who always had to slow down to accommodate Ren and never the other way around—but today, Hux couldn’t bring himself to care.He was troubled.Everything seemed abnormal.

“You need not worry about our agreement,” Ren said.His moderated voice seemed quieter than usual, or was Hux not hearing properly?“You have not broken terms.”

“Good,” Hux said.“It seems I must work harder to break the habit.”

Ren did not respond.The conference room doors opened of their own accord, and the pair stepped inside.


	11. White Noise

All throughout their meeting with Snoke, Ren was subdued. It was the only word Hux could think of for Ren’s utterly bizarre behavior. He stood still, quiet, and startled at odd moments—whenever Hux spoke, as a matter of fact.

“Kylo Ren,” Snoke intoned no more than a few long and painful minutes into their meeting. Hux had carried most of it thus far, Ren a black specter beside him, wordless. Ren often let Hux do most of the talking, but this was an oddity even for him. “Does something trouble you?”

Ren actually hesitated to speak. Hux struggled to keep the astonishment off of his own face. What was he thinking?

“Yes, my Master,” Ren answered finally. Perhaps Hux misheard, but he could have sworn he heard something of a quiver escape the vocoder. He would have given up a sizable portion of his army to know what was going on under that mask of his.

Snoke stared at Ren, his hologram shimmering. Hux clenched and unclenched his hands behind his back, hating his weakness, hating everything about this moment, what was going _on_ —

“We shall speak after,” Snoke said, waving a hand dismissively. “Have you located the map?”

“No,” Ren said. Hux felt his ears buzz and fancied it Snoke’s rage. The hologram made to stand, and Ren shuddered as if struck.

“Perhaps you would do well to study our General. _He_ has not failed. General,” Snoke said, voice controlled even as his eyes brimmed with rage, “you have done well.”

He referred to Hux’s work on Starkiller. Progress was coming along marvelously.

“Thank you, Supreme Leader,” Hux said.

“Go to the _Finalizer_ ,” Snoke ordered. “May the Resistance burn under your watch.”

Hux bowed, recognizing the dismissal even as he risked a glance at Ren.

“Supreme Leader,” Ren said abruptly, “I must ask that you reconsider—”

Snoke stood all of the way, the head of his hologram nearly hitting the ceiling.“ _SILENCE,”_ he bellowed.Ren flinched but otherwise did not move. “You forget yourself, Master of the Knights of Ren.”

Contempt oozed from Snoke’s voice. Hux felt the hairs along the back of his neck rise. Without wasting another moment, he turned on his heel and left the room, abandoning Ren to Snoke.

* * *

Ren couldn’t _concentrate_.

He stood under his Master’s gaze—Snoke had finally spoken to him, he should be grateful, he should be attentive, he should be—but he could not concentrate.

A cat stared at him from the depths of his mind. It looked so soft and inviting; Ren burned with the longing to reach out and pet it. He heard the patter of rain in his ears, felt the warm hands of a loving mother, and heard the soft words, _You’re going to have a sibling, Bren_.

 _Bren_. Hux’s mother had called him Bren. It felt wrong, to think of the man standing beside him and the boy he’d seen in Hux’s memories together. Surely they couldn’t be the same. The boy had been harmless, soft. Hux was, he was…

Every time Hux spoke, Ren startled. The voice didn’t fit—that wasn’t the voice of the boy, it was the voice of the man, he needed to _concentrate_ —

And then Snoke wanted Bren—Hux, _Hux_ —aboard the _Finalizer_ once more. That would mean they would be working together, in proximity, and while yes, it was a good move, he didn’t think—

 _“SILENCE,”_ Snoke roared. Ren’s thoughts vanished under a blanket of white noise. The change jarred every atom in his body, and he flinched at the mental intrusion. Snoke rarely ventured into his mind; when he did, he usually did little more than give summons. This sort of direct manipulation wasn’t something he’d felt in a long time. It was like a dousing of cold water, refreshing, or maybe drowning.

Hux left. Ren didn’t feel any better. He should have—Hux was the source of his current disconnect, and without him, Snoke lavished attention on him now as he hadn’t for such a long time. He sat back on his throne, considering his insubordinate pupil.

“I sense great conflict in you,” Snoke said. “Something has disturbed you.”

Words tumbled out of Ren’s mouth involuntarily. He let it happen just as he let Snoke cover every aspect of him. He could hardly breathe, and yet he spoke—Hux, the _Finalizer_ , Mikoto, the agreement. Snoke sat, stony-faced and silent, through it all, and even after, he said nothing for some time. Ren stared up at him, pleading for answers. He wanted this to be simple, to be _over_.

“You have entered into an unwise agreement,” Snoke said. “Arrogant and foolish.”

Ren bowed his head under the weight of the truth.

“But perhaps this can be a boon rather than a curse,” Snoke continued. “The General is not so unreasonable of a man. Useful, yes. This will be your trial. Go to the _Finalizer_. Meditate, feel the Force within you. It will lead you to the answers you seek, and _control_ —you must _control_ these emotions before they control you.”

Snoke’s hologram fizzled, disappeared.

The cat emerged from the static of Ren’s mind, staring at him with wide eyes.

Ren was thoroughly fucked.

* * *

General Hux, as a rule, worried about things. He worried about the state of the First Order, about where to acquire new children for the (expensive, yes, cumbersome, _yes_ ) Stormtrooper program. His father berated him for his failure to make it run smoothly, but his father was cold and dead and had left this at Hux’s door—

But. He had other things to worry about as well. The state of weaponry, trade, supplies. As an independent organization well and truly apart from the Republic, the First Order used alternative supply chains, largely illegal in the eyes of the current government and certainly dangerous. Difficult, difficult—there was never something that _couldn’t_ go wrong. Success balanced on the point of a knife—one of the many ancient tools they’d been forced to requisition as they went along. Desperate times and all that.

Hux didn’t use knives. Poison, though—that he was not averse to.

He worried now about Ren. Or—not _about_. Concerning. He worried about things pertaining to Ren. Never about Ren himself. That would be foolish and would imply that Hux cared about Ren’s well-being. He didn’t.

What he did care about was Ren’s mental state as it pertained to the well-being of Starkiller and the _Finalizer_.

They had come to an agreement, however tenuous, one Hux intended to do his part to uphold. Ren could never be described as _docile_ , but he’d certainly demonstrated less of a mindlessly destructive character since they’d come to their accords. If he did something to jeopardize that with Snoke—Hux couldn’t imagine how that would work, but _if_ , _if_ —then chaos would reign once more.

Hux made his way to the _Finalizer_. He was tempted to loiter—Ren would be joining him in all likelihood, after all. They could not leave without him.

In the shuttle bay, Hux found everything running smoothly (as expected) and everyone in their places (naturally). He boarded a shuttle and stood, frowning at the bay. No sign of Ren catching up, and no signs of distress amongst either the officers or the troopers—generally surefire indicators that Ren approached. All was quiet and orderly.

The hatch of the shuttle closed, pressurized, and took off. Hux watched the shuttle bay for as long as he could see it; no sign of Ren.

* * *

Ren deliberately waited until Hux’s shuttle left the hangar. He couldn’t face him now—shamed as he was, without answers, without anything at all.

Even when Snoke had left his mind, his thoughts refused to clear. The residual feelings from Hux—longing, split-second affection, warmth—resounded within him.

Ren hadn’t felt anything like it in years, and it terrified him.

These were the emotions that led to— Away. They led away, not toward, his goal. He had largely thought Hux incapable of them. After all, who could orchestrate and supervise the construction of a superweapon capable of obliterating tens of billions of lives with a single command and feel such things? In that momentary glimpse into Hux’s thoughts, projected so strongly over the customary violence and gore, Ren saw the capacity for compassion and love. It was utterly at odds with what he knew, and it—

Ren closed his eyes and breathed in and out as deeply as he could, listening to the rush of air in and out of his mask. He couldn’t afford to think about Hux’s _feelings_ , not right now.

Not ever.

He had been given his commands. Find the last piece of the map of the Unknown in relation to the rest of the known galaxy that would lead them to Skywalker. Meditate, discover the source of Hux’s apparent effect on the Force as it flowed about him. Control himself.

Three tasks. Hux had been given thousands, and Ren had been assigned three. Certainly he could accomplish what had been set before him.

He could afford to do no less.

* * *

As soon as the shuttle depressurized and the hatch opened once more, Hux was on the move. His quarters, he had heard, had been repaired.

Unfortunately, that meant that his bed would be regulation once more and a far cry from the comfort of Starkiller. He’d have to fix that somewhere along the way, a surreptitiously delivered shipment that he personally signed off on. He’d have to replace everything else, too—Ren hadn’t left anything but the walls standing. What a disaster.

As Hux had expected, his quarters could be described as _simple_ at best in their repaired state. Standardized everything. He knew it shouldn’t irk him as it did—he should have no comfort, he had no need for it—but, to admit the weakness, he wanted it.

With a sigh, he sat down at his (regulation, and therefore _uncomfortable_ ) desk and started a list of everything he and the ship would need within the first few days.

* * *

Ren boarded a shuttle. Just as he thought they were about to leave, the hatch opened again, and three troopers bearing a large trunk boarded as well.

“What is that?” Ren asked.

One of the troopers jumped, clearly not having noticed him standing there in the dark of the shuttle.

“Property of General Hux,” the trooper said.

 _Oh_. Ren had destroyed his quarters and everything in it—including whatever clothes and supplies he’d had.

 _They’d been nice_ , Ren thought. He’d noticed as he tore it all to pieces. Hux’s bed had been big, and his sheets had looked different than Ren’s own—none of it regulation, all of it luxury. Leave it to Hux to flout the rules he upheld so rigidly for everyone else.

Ren immediately backpedaled. It didn’t really matter if Hux followed the rules—Hux had _made_ the rules, and whether Ren liked it or not, the system of the First Order worked under them. Whatever Hux did made the entire enterprise a possibility. Someone else—Ren, for example—would have failed.

The thought gave him pause. He’d never expected to find General Hux to be critical to the First Order in any serious way. He’d always expected that Snoke would one day do away with him—as soon as Hux amassed too much power, or too much ambition, whichever came first—and replace him with one of Hux’s many up-and-coming officers, eager to please and reach new heights by any means necessary.

Now, Ren wondered whether that might be the move that ended the enterprise. Hux didn’t _sleep_ until his work was done, and sometimes even then invented new tasks for himself. He had tremendously high standards. Even when he met them (which he did most of the time, Ren was forced to grudgingly admit) Hux would never be satisfied; he set the bar higher, and higher, and higher.

The shuttle docked and depressurized. The troopers waited—Ren was meant to exit first, _protocol_ —but Ren waved them along. They trundled off without another word, leaving Ren alone in the dark, inanimate shuttle.

All around him, the _Finalizer_ thrummed. Hux’s rage was absent, but _Hux_ himself resounded throughout. Ren could feel his zeal and vigor even from where he stood. Wherever he was, Hux hadn’t hesitated to get to work.

Ren supposed he ought to do the same. He strode down from the shuttle and out of the bay, heading towards the officers’ quarters. He would meditate. He would fulfill his end of the bargain and prove, both to Hux and to his Master, that he had not been rash, that he could know the Force deeply enough to sense the root of its movements. He would demonstrate that he, too, had a purpose and a role in which he could not easily be replaced.

 _Wrong_ , his mind chided. _You’re wrong_.

Ren silenced the voice by focusing in on the sound of rainfall—louder here, somehow, more of a torrential downpour than a soft mist. The sounds drowned out his own footsteps and his own thoughts, leaving him utterly blank.

If he’d been even the slightest bit aware of himself, he might have marveled at the fact that he’d reached a place of meditative peace without emptying himself out first, but he wasn’t, so he didn’t.

* * *

Ren did not join Hux on the bridge.

That much was… _different_. Hux barked commands and the _Finalizer_ went off, but where ought they go?

Snoke had given Hux a mission—destroy the Resistance. To be frank, it was more of an ongoing goal than anything that could be accomplished in a single outing. The map was—much as Hux despised the notion, a more _concrete_ goal. Certainly, Hux could sent out shuttles looking for Resistance activity and set the _Finalizer_ on a warpath through the galaxy, but…

But. Several things had Hux hesitating, though he had the grace not to show so much.

First, Ren had achieved nothing in recent memory. His attempts to retrieve the map had been fruitless and had led to a great deal of distress on all sides. Curtailing that was a priority—perhaps if Ren achieved even a single iota of what he’d been asked to do, he might not destroy everything in sight in frustration.

Second, Hux found that he very much wanted to talk to Ren. It was in poor taste—all gossip was—but he was, suffice it to say, _curious_. What had he and Snoke said? Did Snoke have any insight into Ren’s dilemma? What if Ren had said something to undermine him, what if—

Hux set coordinates for the edge of First Order territory in the bit of the Unknown Regions that they had charted and turned over the bridge to Mitaka.


	12. Backsliding

Ren knew Hux was coming. He felt each step as a reverberation, a beat that grew louder and louder until it pressed in on him from all sides.

He wasn’t ready. He had nothing to offer other than his own promises to do better, to find the truth and get to fulfilling his end of the deal. He had hoped he could hide—or, not hide, that wasn’t the word—but Hux was just outside. Ren waited for him to punch in the override codes and demand answers.

What he received instead was a sharp knock followed by silence.

Ren swallowed. Hux had to know he was inside. He had a choice—Hux had offered him a choice. Hux often didn’t leave him with one. No one did.

He waved the door open. The hall outside was brightly lit, as per usual, and Hux appeared as a backlit silhouette, arms at parade rest, back straight, head level. Ren was reminded of an illustration he’d seen as a child. It was in a book about the empire designed to strike fear in the hearts of children. Though the illustrator hadn’t been graphic, Ren distinctly remembered a stylized image with hyper-exaggerated shadows that depicted an executioner come to kill a Rebel child.

“General,” Ren said, unmoving.

“Ren,” Hux said. When he did not move, Ren made a wide gesture. Hux took that as invitation and stepped inside. Ren allowed the doors to close behind him, and Hux was swallowed in the darkness.

“Lights, one-hundred percent,” Ren called belatedly. The room lit up on cue, revealing both Hux and Ren to each other. Ren had to squint, adjusted as he had become to the dark, but Hux could see him clearly, and what he saw brought a frown to his face—far from uncommon. This was old ground.

“General,” Ren said, “why have you come?” Without delving into his mind, as per his agreement, he merely skimmed what Hux projected. He found concern and curiosity outside of the gates of the fortress that served as his brain.

Hux took a moment, then said, “The last piece of the map to Skywalker remains to be located, Ren. Have you any new insights as to where that might be?”

Ren felt his chest constrict. _Oh_. He’d been so focused in on the Force, on seeking control and answers, but he’d nearly—

He stood, brushing away the stray thoughts that plagued him even now. “Admiral Fyl seemed to think it could be found in the Asserip system.”

Hux’s mouth did a peculiar contortion as he said, “Fyl was a fool and now he’s dead.” Ren bristled, waiting for the reprimand—killing an officer was no small infraction, no matter the circumstances—but Hux merely continued, “We cannot continue to search at random.”

“I agree, General,” Ren said, inclining his head, aware that Hux watched him. “It was not on Motlyyl as I had expected, but there _is_ something in the Western Reaches. I can feel it. We will find our answers there.”

Hux pursed his lips, no doubt bringing a mental map of the region to mind. They hadn’t searched much there—their focus had been largely on the Core and Colonies, with a few excursions to the Mid Rim. Until recently—until Hux had been promoted to General, _coincidentally_ —they hadn’t had the manpower or the ability to do more. 

“Rakata Prime?” Hux offered. “Not expressly Western Reaches, but it is close. We could begin a systematic hunt from there.”

Ren stared at Hux, aware, as they both stood, that he was slightly taller than the General. He wondered if that would hold if they took their shoes off.

A silly thought.

“I agree,” Ren said. “I will go with the Captain down to Rakata Prime to begin our search.”

Hux nodded once. “I’ll set us on course,” he said. He turned to leave.

“General,” Ren said.

Hux froze in place, though not by Ren’s doing. “Yes?” Hux asked, tone clipped.

“What you showed me—”

“Was a mistake,” Hux said firmly. “I hope we shall not have to speak of it. I will endeavor to hold up my end of our agreement without subjecting either of us to such memories again.”

Ren found he could not say what he wanted to. He wanted to ask about the cat, about Hux’s mother, about the baby—Hux had a sibling, Ren hadn’t known that—but Hux’s statement brooked no further questions. Hux didn’t want to talk about it.

Ren knew a thing or three about such topics.

“You have not broken our agreement,” Ren said. “Until we arrive at Rakata Prime, I will remain here to do my part.”

“Oh?” Hux asked, turning slightly. His face in profile was distinctive and sharp. Ren couldn’t think of a single living human who had such crisply defined features, yet— Ren found himself transfixed by Hux’s eyelashes. They were hardly a defining feature—to stare at Hux head-on, they vanished, pale as they were, but now Ren could see them, long and nicely curled.

Another silly thought.

“The Supreme Leader believes that finding the answers you seek will prove important to my training,” Ren said, tongue thick in his mouth as he spoke. That wasn’t all of it, not in the slightest, but to speak of anything else felt like an admission, as if there were some line that could not be crossed. The fact that Ren wanted to come up with the answer—and what Ren hoped to get out of it—those were things that Hux didn’t need to know about.

“Very well,” Hux said, apparently satisfied. “I shall leave you to it.”

“Take care, General,” Ren said. Hux waited not a moment more. Ren waved the doors open as Hux approached them and watched as he made his way into the hall and out of sight. Then and only then did he close the doors.

As soon as he was gone, Ren said, “Lights, 0%,” and sank back to the floor in the dark.

He would find the answers, just as he would find the map. They would know, both the Supreme Leader and Hux, that Ren was worthwhile as an apprentice and as a partner. They would see him.

The sound of Hux walking away, his steps ripples in a lake Ren had seen once in days only half-remembered, sent Ren down into himself and the arms of the Force.

* * *

Finding Ren in his quarters had been a stroke of luck.

Finding Ren in his quarters _sitting on the floor in the dark_ had been bizarre, plain and simple.

Hux knew Ren to be a troubled man, but sometimes his behavior spoke to a certain level of disturbed that Hux would rather not encounter, at least not without warning. Surely such actions could not be classified as normal.

Placing “normal” and “Ren” in proximity even in his passing thoughts constituted the very definition of irrational, Hux knew, but there was the principle of the thing. That sort of behavior was simply abnormal, Master of the Knights of Ren or not.

Attempting to push thoughts of Ren out of his mind, Hux returned to the bridge and ordered a course set for Rakata Prime. It was a largely unfrequented world, known to the First Order from Imperial archives. It had been home to a thriving and violent civilization once—something to do with the Sith, unless Hux was mistaken, which he was sure he wasn’t. Now, it housed the odd individuals and creatures that had the misfortune of surviving in whatever wreckage remained. Snoke had briefly considered sending Ren there for part of his training, though he had called it “Lehon” rather than Rakata Prime.

No matter. They were going. With any luck, the map would be hidden there, perhaps in the possession of some foolish native. If not, they would move to the next star system in the area—Jakku came to mind. Takodana was in that area, too, as were several other star systems, largely unexplored and thought to be either uninhabited or home to primitive species.

Likely candidates or not, the First Order no longer had the luxury of time. Every day, the Resistance drew more pilots, more engineers, more supporters. The First Order likewise grew, and faster at that, but the conflict needed to be ended before the Resistance reached a point where there was a possibility, no matter now small, of victory.

So, Hux would be methodical. They would check _everywhere_ , and they would look thoroughly. The map had taken too long to turn up, but it had to exist somewhere. The rest of it certainly did, and records like that did not simply disappear.

Hux hoped it wasn’t on Takodana—hoped, in fact, that he never had cause to send his troops there. The planet was home to pirates who had proven themselves especially unfriendly to the First Order, and while Hux would be _thrilled_ to see them dead, the planet itself had an undesirably heavy atmosphere and all manner of atrocities and diseases that could be acquired moments after arrival. One of the stormtroopers might pick something up, carry a disease onto the _Finalizer_ , and in the course of things Hux might come in contact with it. He disliked the notion immensely.

Hux paced the bridge, only to find that there was nothing that required his attention, immediate or otherwise. The only recent repairs to check were in his own quarters—satisfactory, if painfully within the confines of his own regulations—and the ship had only just started on its journey. There was nothing for him to accomplish or oversee.

The feeling of being unnecessary crept up on him as it often did in these moments, few and far between though they were. When he caught himself, pacing and no doubt making an absolute spectacle of himself, he came to an abrupt halt before the transparisteel and gazed out into space—or, what of it could be seen at hyperspace, which was nothing at all.

A prickling sensation not unlike several dozen blunt pinpricks at the back of his neck caught his attention.

_Ren?_

He felt rage start to well in him, followed by the startling realization that Ren had broken contract. _Ren was looking in his head_. 

The pinpricks disappeared just as abruptly as he considered the idea.

_Definitely Ren._

Hux considered leaving the bridge. Clearly he and Ren had something left to discuss, though what it was, Hux had no worldly idea. They had just spoken, and Ren had indicated his willingness—or, at least, some degree of interest—in continuing to uphold their agreement. What had changed in the past few minutes? Was Ren really so mercurial?

(Yes, of course he was. Hux chastised himself for even asking.)

Hux waited to see if Ren intended to do anything else, but nothing happened. Maybe it hadn’t been him at all, just Hux anticipating.

Hux frowned. It hadn’t been, and he knew it.

“Sir?”

Lieutenant Unamo drew his attention. She opened her mouth to speak, but whatever she read in his face stopped her. Hux stared at her without speaking until she colored, embarrassed at having spoken at all.

“Is something wrong, Lieutenant?” Hux asked crisply.

“No, sir,” she said. He stared at her a moment longer more to unnerve her further. It gave him more satisfaction than was entirely proper, but no one needed to know that.

“Good,” he said. “You’ve just volunteered yourself. Bring Ren here.”

The blood left Unamo’s face.

“Yes, sir,” she said, rising from her place to follow his orders. When he looked about, he found the rest of the bridge crew looking pointedly at their stations. _Good_.

As Unamo left the bridge, Hux pulled up his own datapad. He couldn’t accomplish anything in this short time frame he’d given himself, not that there was anything that required accomplishing, but he made up a task for himself anyway. Without further consideration for anything at all, he began researching the weather on Rakata Prime. (Dismal reading.)

* * *

_Oh_.

Ren sat up so quickly his head spun. The world went light and fuzzy for a moment—or, insofar as it could in utter darkness—until Ren regained his balance.

He’d been curious. That was the only explanation for what had just happened. He hadn’t even been aware he was reaching toward Hux as he stood on the bridge until there he was. Hux’s anxiety and need for control had drawn him in like debris near a black hole.

Ren had looked into Hux’s mind on several occasions, each with more tact than he’d just shown. He had never, however, gone so far as to look in Hux’s mind during one of these episodes. He’d always assumed that Hux focused singularly on the task at hand, concerned with outcome and unsatisfied with the rate of progress.

He’d never dreamed that Hux was unsatisfied with _himself_.

_Why?_

Ren didn’t know how to answer his own question. All he knew was that Hux had known he was there—had felt him, likely, as Ren hadn’t made any effort to disguise his presence because he hadn’t even been fully conscious of his own actions—and had pushed him out.

He considered turning the lights back on, just to see his hands, which he suspected shook, but his mouth was dry and he felt _wrong_. Trying to pinpoint the feeling of wrongness only confused him further. It was as if his skin had been altered, as if his body had been modified without his knowledge and he’d been dropped back into it.

Hux thought himself useless, superfluous.

(Until just recently, Ren would have agreed with him. Nothing had changed so much as everything, something Ren was shelving for a later date, like much of his life.)

He half-wished he could tell Hux that they were in the same position. The other half of him wanted to take his knowledge and wave it in Hux’s face just to watch that smug self-satisfaction melt away from his face to leave him with nothing.

Ren stretched his legs out. Did he really want to humiliate Hux like that? Ren could tell that there was something behind his tension—a reason he felt as inadequate and false as he did. That much he’d been able to tell. Surely Hux would do the same to him, if he hadn’t already. He showed nothing but respect for Ren in front of officers and troopers alike, at least as far as Ren could tell. Then again, he wasn’t always there.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Ren folded over himself, arms coming down to his ankles. It didn’t matter. They had an agreement, Ren would meet it, and then whatever they were toward each other, either civil or openly hostile, that would be it. Ren would grow for his training and be granted a reprieve, and…

_The agreement_.

Ren’s eyes shot open around the same moment the Force warned him of someone approaching: one of Hux’s staff, Lieutenant Unamo.

_He’d broken their contract_.

Ren felt sick. He’d had to obey two rules: teach Hux, and stay out of his head. He’d failed on the second count.

He rose from his position on the floor, feeling ill and angry. He opened the doors to his quarters before Unamo could announce her presence in any way. She startled, her pupils dilating and her breath quickening. It struck Ren all too late that he hadn’t bothered to put his mask back on. She’d seen his face.

That wouldn’t do.

Ren snatched Unamo up by the Force and watched her writhe under the pressure for a long moment. It made him feel slightly better about the absolute shambles that were his life, but not much.

“Why are you here?” Ren asked.

“General—” Unamo spluttered, “wants—you—bridge…”

The General wanted him to come to the bridge. What, to give him a formal dressing down? To make a fool of him, wave their agreement around like a barbarian might wave a head on a stick? Ren squeezed the Lieutenant harder through the Force and watched her face turn purple. When he thought she might pass out, Ren dropped her. She fell to the floor, still clutching at her throat and gasping for air.

“You will tell the General that if he wishes to speak to me, he can come here himself,” Ren said, wincing. He waved a hand and sent her on her way. She would forget his face momentarily with a little assistance, something he was more than happy to impress upon her.

Ren allowed the doors to his quarters to close once more with a soft _swoosh_. Then, and only then, did he retrieve his lightsaber from his belt and began hacking away at the nearest objects—his own bed, the lights, the walls.

_You’re a failure, Kylo Ren._

He couldn’t even properly summon Snoke’s voice—Snoke, who would be doubly disappointed that he hadn’t managed to fulfill such simple terms. He could still find the root cause of what had happened, but Snoke had wanted him to fulfill the contract itself, to learn from it and grow in the Force.

_Failure. Failure._ **_Failure_.**

Ren slashed and swung his lightsaber until all he could see were ashes and glittering sparks.


	13. Out of the Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I was inspirationless and working on something else.

As soon as Unamo was off the bridge, Hux found himself having second thoughts. The last he’d seen Ren, he’d been as docile as he’d ever been, agreeable and calm. Assuming nothing had changed since Hux had left—hardly a safe assumption, in truth—she could be in no real danger, and yet…

And yet. Hux had a very, very bad feeling. He stood stock-still, watching the last bits of hyperspace fly past, awaiting Unamo’s return with tense shoulders and a frown on his face. They would be arriving near Rakata Prime soon—momentarily, in fact.

The doors to the bridge _hiss_ ed as they opened and shut once more. Lieutenant Unamo approached, walking briskly.

“Lieutenant,” Hux said.

“General. Kylo Ren has informed me that should you wish to speak with him, you must come to him,” she said. Hux resisted the urge to tilt his head as he considered her words. Something her voice was odd; it was as if she herself were not the one speaking. No sooner had she finished than she blinked rapidly and looked about as if confused about her surroundings.

“Lieutenant,” Hux repeated, feeling his face heat with embarrassment at the message, delivered publicly and rather loudly, “repeat dispatch.”

Unamo looked at Hux, panic beginning to set in across her features. “I cannot, sir,” she said, her entire face going white. Her confusion was as palpable as her fear. “I don’t remember what just happened.”

The _Finalizer_ pulled out of hyperspace. Rakata Prime loomed ahead, blue and ominous. Hux’s datapad _ping_ ed, and he glanced at the notification.

_Major damage sustained: Officers Quarters, 400._

Ren, at it again. Hux wondered what Ren had done this time. The _Finalizer_ hadn’t combusted, so Hux supposed that if Ren’s thrice-damned lightsaber was involved, he was in some degree of control.

“Mind tricks,” Hux spat. “You’re relieved of duty. Report to the medbay for examination and return to your quarters until tomorrow’s cycle.”

“Sir,” Unamo said, bowing shortly. She all but fled the bridge.

Hux surveyed the rest of the bridge crew to find them studiously examining their own terminals.

“Hold it here,” Hux ordered. “Mitaka. Kader.” The two Lieutenants approached at the sound of their names. To Mitaka, Hux said, “Inform Captain Phasma of our arrival. She’s to assemble a strike team and go to the surface personally to survey. I want ground and aquatic support, at least three shuttles, and supplies for—five days. Five, and then they return.”

“Sir,” Mitaka said, nodding shortly as he headed off.

“You remain here,” Hux ordered. “Forward all reports and feeds to me personally. Otherwise, you have the bridge. If Ren decides to grace you with his presence, tell him he can find me in my quarters.”

Hux didn’t give Kader a chance to say another word as he swept away. He had a terrible headache coming on.

His datapad _ping_ ed. A glance at the byline told him everything he needed to know. He hadn’t thought his headache could get worse; he’d been wrong. If Ren had appeared at that moment, Hux would have taken tremendous pleasure in decking him. He’d punch that face until the blood ran freely—from Ren’s nose, from his own knuckles, from _anywhere_ , damn it all—and maybe slice the man in half with his own lightsaber. That might salvage the absolute wreck the day had so quickly become.

As that was impossible, Hux was willing to settle for a drink. Or two. Or three.

Except, his quarters had been destroyed, along with everything inside. There wasn’t a single non-regulation article to be found.

Hux walked a little faster toward his quarters, lest he be tempted to seek out Ren in his own for a fight.

* * *

Ren waited.

It wasn’t something he was very good, at, but he made an effort anyway. The officer had no doubt delivered his message, and Hux would have heard about the destruction nonetheless.

Ren regretted that part now, but there wasn’t anything to be done. Nothing remained of his quarters except the bare bones of the room. Smoke filled his lungs and stung his eyes. It hurt to breathe.

Still, Ren waited. He said he’d be in his quarters, and so there he would be.

He waited, and waited, and waited. He felt the _Finalizer_ pull out of hyperspace. He waited then for information about the landing party he was to lead with Captain Phasma.

Nothing. No Hux, no Phasma, and no one else besides.

Ren felt anger rise in him again. He reached out with the Force only to find his gaze clouded with rage. He knew Hux was still aboard—Ren could make out the maelstrom of a man even on his worst days—but everything else…

Ren focused in on Hux, the only point he could find. He was close, but not coming any closer.

In his own quarters. Furious. Fantasizing about all of the ways he might catch Ren off guard and kill him.

So much for waiting.

Ren threw himself into the hallway. He failed to catch himself before he hit the far wall, leaving a dent in the durasteel. He used his momentum to carry him forward in a plume of smoke and sparks down to Hux’s own. Had he been less angry, he might have simply waved the doors open, but he wasn’t, so he didn’t: instead, he pushed with the Force, blowing them inward, half-hoping one of them might crush Hux.

They didn’t, though it was a near thing. Hux cursed in a language Ren didn’t understand as they landed just next to him. He jumped, turning to glare immediately at Ren.

“Get out,” Hux spat.

“General,” Ren said.

“ _Get out_.”

Ren took a step forward. “About our agreement—”

“Which you broke. Typical. I’d say I’d expected so much, but you already knew that,” Hux said. For all that he stood his ground, he looked ready to combust at any moment. Pale as he was, standing in that drab room, he looked like a match, skinny and crowned with flames.

“General, if I may—”

“ _No,_ ” Hux all but screamed, “ _you may not_.”

Ren stood stock still. Hux’s face had drained of blood. His hands had balled into fists as if he intended to physically fight Ren again. He briefly considered looking into Hux’s mind, then caught sight of the datapad on the table. Ren felt the beginnings of something wrapping around it—raw anger. _Hux_. Ren remembered the _Finalizer_ without Hux and called the datapad to himself.

“Ren, put that down this instant,” Hux spat. Ren failed to comply.

No wonder Hux was so angry.

“I was wondering when she’d contact you again,” Ren said, offering the datapad to Hux. Hux snatched it back. “She seemed rather _fond_.”

“Get out,” Hux said. He’d willed his voice to be flat. Ren made no move to leave. “Unlike you, I have work to do. As you can see,” he said, waving the datapad, “the admiralty wants to _talk_. We—” Hux gesticulated violently between the two of them— “have nothing to discuss.”

“I disagree.”

“Of course you do,” Hux muttered.

“I understand that my actions—”

“You’ve endeavored to make a fool of me,” Hux said, voice shrill again. “You made an agreement you had no intention of keeping. You delve into my mind without permission. You embarrass me in front of the bridge. You damage my property and troop morale while you’re at it, and you _still_ can’t do your own job.”

Ren fought the anger rising in him even as it clouded the very edges of his vision. Hux was _right_ , damn him, but—

“I intended to keep the agreement.”

“Then you were _incapable_ of keeping it. I don’t know what’s worse.”

Ren swallowed, and Hux went quiet.

Hux’s datapad _ping_ ed. No doubt the _Admiral_ again, upset that Hux hadn’t responded immediately. Hux actually flinched at the noise.

“I’ll leave you to it, General,” Ren said.

* * *

Ren fled his quarters.

Hux had never thought he would live to see the day. When he disappeared through the doorway—Hux would have to have the door repaired _again_ —Hux sank into his (regulation) chair and took a deep breath.

He’d crossed a line there, and he knew it. It was a miracle Ren hadn’t made good on his no-doubt latent desire to kill him.

 _Latent_. More like _obvious_.

Hux very much wanted a drink, but he was faced with the reality that no one had been yet dispatched to deal with the disaster that was likely Ren’s quarters down the hall, not to mention Admiral Mikoto’s claim that her ship had been attacked outside of Takodana’s airspace and required assistance, and on top of that the fact that she thought it _prudent_ —as if she knew the meaning—to hold another conference of High Command.

(In truth, Hux had been planning to call for just that following their search on Rakata Prime. It rankled to see someone beat him to it.)

Getting the admiralty involved with the current operation would have its benefits. It would free up the _Finalizer_ for other work if several commanders worked in tandem, and they could cover more systems faster. Besides, he needed to know how the assault on the Neerdan system had gone. He had the reports, obviously, but they often failed to include crucial details, mostly because the commanders were incompetent and bloated with arrogance and an inflated sense of their own importance in the universe.

Hux sighed deeply and stared at the notifications from Mikoto. If only he didn’t have to deal with these _people_. Ren, Mikoto, the rest of the admiralty and most of the officers otherwise—they all had ambitions and delusions and not a single iota of intelligence behind them. Hux valued a standard stormtrooper more than, say, Admiral Threon. He would have had most all of them killed, had he the chance.

 _I’m arranging a meet as we speak_ , Hux sent back to Mikoto. _I’ll be glad to see you again._ His lips curled into a sneer. He hated this, he _hated_ —

Mikoto’s response was nearly instantaneous. _So will I, General. It won’t be a moment too soon._ Hux wanted to be ill.

His datapad _ping_ ed again before he could type another response, not that he had one at his fingertips. It was from Mitaka. Ren had taken a ship to Rakata Prime with a squadron of troopers.

Hux shut his eyes. At least Ren was off of the _Finalizer_. He had Mitaka warn Phasma that Ren was being himself and would likely go off at the slightest provocation, then set about putting in work orders.

His own quarters were to be fixed first, thank you very much.

* * *

Rakata Prime was warm and very, very humid. Most of the planet was covered in vast oceans with strong undercurrents and deep waters. They’d been charted once, back when the indigenous population had numbered in the hundreds of thousands, but that information had been lost with them as centuries passed. The scattered islands that dotted the surface of the planet were mostly low-lying and volcanic, lined with smooth, sandy beaches and little in the way of elevation beyond the volcanoes that had birthed them.

Ren’s shuttle landed near another—Phasma’s, given the officer’s beacon—on one of the islands. Ren couldn’t see another, but that meant little. Rakata Prime was a big planet. Hux had given them five days to survey, but it was likely they would hardly scratch the surface during that time, even working day and night.

From the footprints left in the sand away from the water, Ren could see that Phasma had divided her squadron into two. One had headed for the water, no doubt to dive looking for anything interesting, while the other had headed inward to explore the island itself. Ren had no intention of following either—he had another way of searching.

Ren closed his eyes and reached out with the Force. He had a feeling: the map would be somewhere or with someone strong in the Force. It was the only explanation as to why it had not yet resurfaced. No mean stormtrooper, no matter how well trained or conditioned, would be able to find it.

 _You don’t want to admit you’re just too weak to locate it_.

Ren shuddered. When had his thoughts adopted Hux’s voice? In fact, the sight of Hux, livid and _right_ , damn him, as he listed Ren’s failures seemed to have been burned on his eyes. He blinked and there was the General, too small to command so much power, and yet.

That wouldn’t do. Now wasn’t the time for self-flagellation. That could come later, in private. For now, Ren needed to _concentrate_.

“Power and control,” he murmured, watching as the stormtroopers he’d brought, for lack of other orders, began gearing up to go into the water. Ren looked at the sky, almost teal under the single sun. If he’d read the brief on the planet—which he hadn’t—he might have known which chemicals made it that vibrant of a color. It didn’t matter, but he was curious because it was beautiful. Ren liked beautiful things. The Force had made them that way. If he mastered the Force, he could make something beautiful.

The Force was strong on this planet. Ren had known because Snoke had told him so, but even so, he was surprised by just how visceral it was. Ren could almost feel it coursing around him, flowing like a stream through the very air he breathed. He longed, foolishly, to remove his helmet and take it all in, but he refrained. It wasn’t the time for that, either.

He traced the tendrils of the Force with his mind until he could see it clearly: a network of energy, crossing over itself and looping around. Ren’s field of vision was small, but he could tell that it dipped under the waves and back up, skimming over the surface as it ran through the atmosphere and between islands and the depths of the oceans.

Something dark lurked on the edges—east, Ren thought, or whatever passed for east on Rakata Prime. The old Sith temple, no doubt. One of them. Ren couldn’t remember now if there was more than one.

Splashes told him the troopers had gone under. With another glance at the sky, he boarded his shuttle once more, alone. He sent a quick dispatch—to the bridge, not to Hux, though Hux would see it anyway—then initiated startup and skipped setting coordinates. He’d be steering with the Force rather than anything electronic.

The engines flared to life, and he shot across the water.

* * *

Ren’s new mission and the notification that came with it—explore a Sith temple looking for the map rather than look with Phasma and her troopers, with a request for an additional shuttle in case Ren wasn’t finished when they were and the troopers needed a shelter—came as a surprise to Hux.

Surprising, because Ren never told anyone what he was doing. Surprising, too, because he generally failed to care what happened to the troops placed at his disposal. Either he’d grown courteous in the past half hour, or he was playing at something. Hux didn’t like either possibility.

He checked on the hangar remotely and saw that Mitaka had also received Ren’s missive. A ship with a single pilot and an empty cargo hold was leaving the _Finalizer_. No point in worrying about it, then. If Ren wanted to traipse about and look at relics from a long-gone age, that was his problem. Hux would just have to do his job for him, as per usual. _Typical_.

His datapad _ping_ ed. Hux had the profound urge to throw the offending piece of technology across the room and watch it break against the durasteel walls.

 _Tomorrow, 1000_.

Mikoto had set up a meeting of High Command without him.

Hux lined up to throw the datapad. A new notification— _damn that thing and its sounds_ —stopped him.

_Do you like whiskey?_

This, from Kylo Ren. Had he ripped out the console of the shuttle, or was he still in there, trying to find some temple, and asking nonsensical questions while he did so? Hux felt as if he’d slipped into a parallel universe.

_Dare I ask why you find this relevant?_

_Answer the question,_ was Ren’s only response. Hux waited, but nothing more came.

 _Yes_ , Hux said. _Why?_

Ren offered no response. The thought of whiskey had Hux’s mouth watering.

_Stupid boy._

“He’s dead,” Hux said aloud. “He’s dead.”

It didn’t help as much as it should have.


	14. Relax, Have A Drink With Me

At the end of five days, the four shuttles that had gone down to Rakata Prime returned. Hux knew because he had word from Phasma and from the hangar crew, and because Kylo Ren clomped onto the bridge in a bid to personally affront Hux at the earliest possible opportunity.

“Ren,” Hux greeted, voice icy. His door had been fixed, as had Ren’s quarters, but he had forgiven neither offense, nor any of the others that had preceded them.

“General. I have something to show you,” Ren said.

“Is it the map?” Hux asked, swiveling. Ren said nothing. Hux assumed that was a ‘no’. In truth, Hux had already known. Phasma had reported the mission a failure on that front, and Hux doubted Ren would have kept the information to himself when he could gloat of his successes to someone else. “If not, we best set coordinates for the next system.”

“General,” Ren repeated. Then, at the back of Hux’s mind: _please_.

Hux felt his world flip upside down. He narrowed his eyes at Ren and wished for his mask to be off; his posture was difficult to read, but his face was easy. Something was amiss; Ren did not beg.

“Very well,” Hux said finally. Ren turned and left the bridge, leaving Hux to follow. Hux might have been offended had not Ren’s own robes hampered his progress, making it easy for Hux to come to his side. In fact, as soon as they were abreast of each other, Hux had to slow to keep pace with his colleague and his impractical choice of clothing.

To Hux’s surprise, Ren led him to his own quarters. He waved the doors open—something Hux abhorred, if only because the demonstration reminded him that Ren could and would go anywhere he pleased and had only destroyed his doors out of spite—and stepped inside.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to come in here,” Hux said stiffly, following him.

As soon as the doors slid shut, Ren grasped at the sides of his helmet and tugged it off. His hair was tangled and full of static electricity from its confinement. He had, Hux gathered, been out in the sun; his nose and cheeks were burned and red. He looked utterly ridiculous, and only the memory of their last encounter kept Hux from laughing at the expense of his rival.

Ren nudged a crate on the floor that Hux belatedly realized hadn’t been there before.

“What is this?” he demanded. He watched as Ren hoisted it onto Hux’s desk. It looked heavy, and Hux wondered if the table would support its weight. Ren removed the cover and stepped back like a showman performing a trick.

Hux could take a hint: he came closer to take a look inside. At the sight of the contents, he was torn between shock and disbelief.

“Where did you get these?” Hux demanded.

“I found them planetside,” Ren said. “They appeared untouched.”

Hux picked up one of the bottles. Corellian whiskey—and a lot of it. The labels on the bottles were worn and weathered, but there could be no doubting the origins.

“You found these at a Sith temple?” Hux asked. There was no way. He set the bottle back down as he awaited an answer. Ren couldn’t have left Rakata Prime to go pick these up—not only that, but he wouldn’t have. There had to be something—had Ren poisoned the bottles? Was this some variety of elaborate ruse?

“It seems smugglers had been using it as a shelter and a port of storage,” Ren said. “I doubt they knew what they were tampering with.”

“Did you find anyone there?” Hux asked.

“Yes,” Ren said.

“And?”

“I killed them,” Ren said, “after a thorough interrogation.”

Ren seemed perfectly serious. Hux didn’t believe a word of it.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Whiskey, if I’m not mistaken.”

Hux resisted the urge to shut his eyes, or hit Ren, or both.

“What is _this_?” he asked. “Why did you bring this here?”

“A show of goodwill,” Ren said.

“Goodwill,” Hux echoed. Ren stared at him, expectant. He glanced back at the bottles. They _looked_ real enough. Why would Ren go to the trouble of setting this up? _He wouldn’t_ , Hux thought. It wasn’t theatrical enough, for one thing.

“I accept,” Hux said, “your show of goodwill.”

“Good,” Ren said. He was still waiting for something. Hux couldn’t imagine what. Proof? A thank-you?

“Would you like a glass?” Hux asked. Judging on the number of bottles in the crate, Ren had brought him well over a year’s supply, provided it was any good to drink. (Hux had no doubts about that. The bottles were sealed tightly. Even if they’d been at the bottom of the sea when Ren had happened across them, which he doubted, they’d still be perfectly preserved on the inside.) He could afford to spare a glass to the one who’d provided them.

“I brought them for you,” Ren said, slowly, as if Hux were stupid.

Hux grimaced. “And I offered you some,” he said. “Why, did you do something to these bottles?”

“Do—? No, General,” Ren said. “I did not mean to imply that there was anything wrong with them. I merely meant that you do not have to share with me.”

“I didn’t think that I did,” Hux said, aware that he sounded snotty. “I offered anyway. _Goodwill_.” He threw Ren’s word back at him with some care. He still hadn’t figured out _what_ exactly it meant from Ren’s lips. He had to have an ulterior motive. Did he think he could get Hux drunk? For what purpose?

Ren swallowed and looked at the crate. “If you offer freely, then yes,” he said, “I would take a glass.”

“Have a seat,” Hux said, gesturing at his desk chair. He himself perched on the edge of his bed. “I don’t suppose you know how to open these.” The seals were waxy and strong; Hux had no intention of making a fool of himself trying to get a drink.

Ren frowned at the bottle Hux had set aside and grabbed it with both hands. “Like so,” he said. He grasped the neck with one hand and twisted the top viciously. Hux waited for the glass—and they were made of actual glass, not some substitute—to snap. Instead, Hux heard a low _crack_ as the sealant broke, and Ren unscrewed the cap.

“We’ll have to make due with these,” Hux said. He had a pair of glasses— _not_ made of actual glass, unlike his old ones, which Ren had destroyed—which he grabbed. Ren poured them each two fingers worth.

After taking their seats, Hux held his glass, watching Ren, unsure how to proceed. Ren took a sip, watching Hux, so Hux did the same.

He just barely bit back the urge to groan. The whiskey was _good_.

“Smugglers,” Hux said. “There’s justice in the universe after all.”

Ren snorted. “I didn’t see a reason to leave it behind.”

“I appreciate it,” Hux said. “I’ve been craving a drink for days.”

“Oh?”

Hux considered not telling Ren, but he’d find out on his own anyway. There was no reason _not_ to except to be an ass, and Ren had brought him reasonably good liquor.

“It’s been a trying few days, even with you gone,” he said. “High Command wants a word.”

“Oh?”

Hux shrugged. Inwardly, the gesture made him cringe. _Alcohol_ , he thought. It had been nearly a week since his last drink, and his tolerance had never been that good to begin with. Besides that, whatever Ren had brought seemed strong—stronger than he was accustomed to, anyway, which was watered down and overpriced to boot.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Hux said. “We annexed the Neerdian system. We’ll be getting fresh supplies tomorrow from the runners.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad idea,” Ren said. He seemed to be looking at Hux intently—more so than usual. Then again, Hux didn’t know how Ren looked at him most of the time, courtesy of that cursed helmet of his. He didn’t even _need_ it. He just wore it to make himself look more imposing, bigger than he was.

“No,” Hux said. “You didn’t.” He sighed. He’d almost shrugged again. “Will you be joining us this time?”

“Joining you?”

“You do realize that you are, however technically, part of High Command,” Hux said.

Ren’s face was unreadable. _Since when?_ Hux wondered. His face had always been an open book. Hux took another sip of his drink and wondered how it was already half empty.

 _You utter ass_ , Hux thought to himself.

“I did not realize you desired my presence,” Ren said.

“I didn’t say that,” Hux said.

“No,” Ren said. “You didn’t.”

“They are curious about you, though,” Hux said, damn his tongue. “Since you spend your time with the _Finalizer_ , the admiralty and ground forces don’t get to work with you.”

Ren sat up a little straighter. Hux noticed and nearly snorted. _Nearly_. He’d just barely restrained himself. Hux had to stop drinking.

“Curious?” Ren asked. “In what way?”

“The usual ways, I’d imagine,” Hux said. “They think you’re some kind of badge of honor from the Supreme Leader.”

It was true, but Hux hadn’t meant to say it—not that way, anyway. Hux had phrased it (accidentally) in such a way that the information might go to Ren’s head. That wouldn’t do.

“That is,” Hux said, “they envy me you.”

Judging on Ren’s expression, that wasn’t much better.

“They’re idiots,” Hux said. Finally, something that was both true and not related to either of them. _Perfect_.

“For envying you, or for thinking me a badge of honor?” Ren asked. Was it just Hux, or was something strange happening to Ren’s mouth?

Hux realized he’d voiced his question out loud rather too late.

“Your face is red, General,” Ren said. “I’d find that rather more worrying than the state of my lips. I wouldn’t have guessed you to be a lightweight.”

Hux noticed that Ren’s glass was empty.

“You cheated,” Hux said. Ren had the audacity to look confused. Hux pointed at his glass. “You didn’t drink it,” he said. “You put something in it.”

Something else happened to Ren’s face—another unreadable expression. Hux didn’t like it.

“I think, General, you’re drunk,” Ren said.

“If I am, it’s your fault,” Hux said. He could _feel_ his face burning. This is why he didn’t drink, he shouldn’t have had any at all—

 _Stupid, stupid boy_.

 _He’s dead_ , Hux’s liquor addled mind supplied. He focused on Ren’s face in time to see it shifting yet again.

“Are you going to say something or make faces at me while I’m not looking?” Hux asked. He prepared for Ren’s anger—had wanted it, even.

Ren laughed.

Hux had never heard Ren laugh. He realized so much as he listened. Ren had a deep laugh. _Full-bodied_. Ren convulsed with it.

Perhaps Ren wasn’t as sober as Hux had previously thought. Even so, Ren’s smile—and it was a smile—died when he caught sight of Hux’s scrutiny.

“I’d assumed you’d be better at holding your liquor given how you tend to invite others to your quarters on the pretense of a drink,” Ren said. “I should have known. You ought to get some rest.”

“Rest?” Hux asked, ignoring the barbs. They seemed like they needed to be addressed—what did Ren know of how he invited others in?—but it required more thought than he was prepared to give at the moment. “You must be joking. It’s not even shift change.” Hux understood the logical flaw in his argument even as he delivered it: Hux told time in shift changes; Ren did not.

“Do you really think you can command the _Finalizer_ like this?” Ren asked.

 _No_ , Hux thought.

“Yes,” he said.

Ren looked to one side and made a dismissive gesture with one hand. He set his empty glass down on Hux’s desk—Hux nearly screamed at him to use a coaster, but the coasters had gone up in flames with his old desk, and he found he didn’t particularly care what happened to the new piece of furniture that had found its way into his quarters.

“That upset you,” Ren said.

“Get out of my head,” Hux groaned. He leaned back slightly and felt the pull of the artificial gravity threatening to bring him topping onto his back, onto his bed.

“You project,” Ren said. “It’s like you want me to hear.”

“I really don’t.”

“I’ll teach you.”

Hux _did_ snort at that. “Like how you promised to teach me to master my own personal oddities in the Force?” he asked. He was baiting Ren now openly—get them back on familiar terms. He knew how to do this with officers, with his own family even, but not Ren. He didn’t like it.

He _told_ himself he didn’t like it. In truth, he felt neutral. Not upset, not happy. Just neutral.

“I was hoping to make another agreement,” Ren said. “Written. Signed.”

“Those were my initial requests, I remember,” Hux said. “And why should I agree now?”

“Because I’ve had a vision,” Ren said, all solemnity, and when had he stood up? He towered over Hux now—Hux, who’d given all control to gravity and had splayed himself out on his bed with company. “We’ll discuss it when you wake.”

“When I wake,” Hux said. “As if I intend to sleep.”

Ren waved a hand, and Hux’s grip on his empty glass relaxed as his eyes shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, the one where Hux has my tolerance for alcohol, which is to say none.


	15. Shore Leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted without much in the way of editing because I feel guilty about the long delay between this and the previous chapter. I've been singularly uninspired lately :(

_Rakata Prime, five days prior_

 

Ren arrived at the temple in time to watch the sunset from the beach. He landed near the entrance, the black shuttle a stark contrast to the white of the sand and the weathered rock face of the temple itself. All around on either side were dense trees which stood very tall and had very small leaves. They swayed in a breeze Ren could not feel.

He removed his helmet then—the Sith favored anonymity but only when it came to those who fell outside their ranks. The Force within this temple would lay him bare with or without his permission; there was no use fighting it up front.

The sunset, though. It was utterly at odds with the place to stand and watch it, and yet he did. He stared as the sun rode low over the ocean, the sky taking on every hue visible to the human eye. Only when it disappeared entirely, taking all color with it, did Ren turn to the temple.

There were no insects to hum in the night. No lights, no troops—nothing to buzz or beep or murmur quietly in the dark. Just the distant glow of stars, and the hulking edifice of the temple.

Ren approached it with caution. The place had been steeped in the Dark—not intentionally, for no Sith had set foot here in centuries. Snoke had stopped there, Ren supposed, but he was not a Sith. If Vader had ever come there to seek guidance, Ren knew not. Regardless, whomever was last master of the temple had left behind bits of Darkness—and bits of themselves no doubt; ambition and pride and power in the rawest of senses—and in their absence the place had become overgrown with it, a chaotic tangle of desires and wishes spoken only in the shadows.

Briefly, Ren wondered if he was up to the task of wading through it. Snoke did not intend to lose—and he used that word, _lose_ —Ren to the Dark. He wanted Ren to master it without becoming one of it. He had to use it as one would any other tool. The Light, too, was to come under his sway. _Balance_. He would know both, use both, and be of neither.

Ren allowed himself a moment’s hesitation before entering the Temple. He steeled himself as best as he knew how, then made his way to the opening arches. The stairs up to the front were short, but by the end Ren’s calves were screaming. Pain—that was almost always the first trial of these places. It weeded out the weak.

The feel of it reminded him of his mission, though: _the map_. Ren knew at that moment that it could not be there, either in the temple or anywhere else on the planet. The Dark told him so much, and though it was inclined to whisper lies to the unsuspecting, Ren doubted it did so now. The Dark wanted the map to be found. It wanted to prove itself by destroying the Jedi and the last bastion of Light. _Through Power I gain Victory_. Something in the temple wanted to fight, and it wanted to win.

He doubted Hux would believe that, though. The flagship of the First Order would continue to orbit Rakata Prime for the next five—four, now—days no matter what Ren reported.

The temple loomed before him, beckoning, tempting.

Ren supposed he could stand to make the most of his time.

* * *

Time—something Ren quickly lost track of.

He found his internal sense of time altered inside the temple. The walls seemed to sing, though they lacked melody: Ren could feel a beat and a low chant, deep and without origin, hanging in the air all about him. They rippled his bones and turned his muscles to jelly. The voice spoke words of power, promises of things to come if only Ren would open himself to the Dark completely. It was intoxicating imagery—himself on a bloodied throne cast of the bones of his enemies, the very galaxy at his feet. He led troops in an endless war. He fought on and on and on, always proving himself, always conquering. _Victory. Power. Strength._ The central tenets of the Dark. He could embody them all, if only he would just let go…

When Ren realized he could not breathe, could not so much as _think_ without those images and words threatening to punch a hole in his skull, he lurched back outside, gasping for breath, only to find it bright—midday, likely. He had to check in the shuttle to make sure of the day.

By the count of the shuttle, they were halfway through the second day. He’d received several missives while he was inside, hallucinating vividly about a future he hadn’t chosen as his own. (He would achieve balance, he would not drown in the Dark, he would not _lose himself_ —)

Phasma had reported that another carrier had landed to shelter the troopers Ren had unceremoniously left behind. A message from the _Finalizer_ mentioned that there was a storm brewing on the far side of Rakata Prime. The _Finalizer_ had seen it from orbit, massive and cyclonal, and though it was unlikely to hit Phasma’s ‘troopers, it was best to be prepared. No one claimed to know Ren’s location, nor did anyone seem to care.

Ren read the letters until his heart stopped racing and his thoughts were as much his own as they ever were.

 _You’re a disgrace_. _Pull yourself together_.

Hux’s voice, again. Ren scrunched his eyes closed. He needed to fix that.

* * *

Ren spent the rest of the day in meditation. He did not step inside the temple again—he was no up to the task, _too weak, too_ — but he did sit on the stairs, feeling the pain course through his body as he willed himself to silence.

Screams echoed in his mind. They bounced off of the walls of the cavern and sent ripples through the water, leaving everything covered in scorch marks. Ren scrubbed and scrubbed at himself, but the marks kept appearing.

He understood it was futile around the moment he felt something—a warning from the Dark: someone was coming. Ren could not hide his shuttle, but he could hide himself. He crouched in the trees, waiting for whatever it was to show itself.

He didn’t have to wait long. A speck appeared on the horizon, coming in fast. _Smugglers_ , Ren thought as the ship came to land beside his own. It was a wreck of a thing, not unlike the ship he’d learned to fly on, and designed for a small crew.

The pilots—only two, he saw—were humanoid. He watched as they disembarked, blasters drawn. They approached Ren’s shuttle warily, no doubt hoping to surprise a hapless First Order officer and claim a little extra bounty on their next run.

Ren flew forth from the shadows, igniting his lightsaber as he spun out. The smugglers startled, too slow to point their blasters in the right direction. Ren sliced one of them clean in two and gripped the other with the Force, holding him high above the ground as he sputtered and shook, his eyes wide with fear.

“Why have you come here?” Ren asked, dropping him. The smuggler scrabbled for purchase against the soft sands and earned himself a boot to his stomach for his trouble. Ren stood on his abdomen, pinning him in place with ease. He brought the tip of the lightsaber down to the smuggler’s ear, holding it just the slightest distance away. Almost immediately, the smuggler stilled.

“Why are you here?” Ren repeated. He became aware almost immediately that his voice sounded strange. It took another moment for him to understand that he hadn’t spoken in a day and a half, and he didn’t have his vocoder besides. The smuggler was staring up at his bare face. The thought angered him further, and he put more of his weight onto the smuggler’s chest.

The man groaned, unable to breathe properly.

“My buddy an’ I’d been runnin’,” he said. “Stashed the good stuff here—you can have it, it’s all yours, just let me—”

“You think I want your contraband?” Ren asked, unamused.

“It’s the good stuff,” the smuggler said. “Whiskey, from Corellia. Honest, that’s it—”

Ren pushed harder. “You recognized my ship,” he said.

“‘Course I did,” the smuggler panted. He was red in the face from a lack of oxygen. “You’re one of those First Order guys, aren’t you? We’ve got no problem with you— _urk_.”

“From where I’m standing, you have many problems,” Ren said, frowning. “Who were you running with?”

“My buddy—”

“Who else?”

“No one, just the two of us—” The smuggler screamed as Ren pushed into his mind. “Stop, please, please…”

Ren ignored the sniveling wretch’s pleading and focused on what he saw. Ren’s question had brought an image to mind—an older fellow with a Wookie.

 _Han Solo_.

Ren’s blood burned.

“Han Solo,” Ren said. “You’ve been working with one of the old Generals of the Rebellion.” The man beneath him couldn’t speak, much less answer, but Ren already knew. “He’d have double-crossed you, if he hasn’t already. Tell me, are you working with him and the Resistance?”

The mention of the Resistance brought many images to the forefront of the smuggler’s mind. There was Han Solo, young and standing next to Luke Skywalker. They both had medals on their chests. Behind them stood—

Ren pushed that image aside and looked to the next one. There was an X-wing, or parts of one. It was an old model.

“Illicit substances aren’t the only thing you’ve been running,” Ren said. “You’ve been helping supply the Resistance.”

“I don’t know anything,” the smuggler said. “I don’t know, I don’t know…”

“I think you know something,” Ren said. “Who were you delivering these parts to?”

“Never got a name,” the smuggler gasped, but Ren wasn’t looking for a name, he wanted a face.

One came to the smuggler’s mind almost immediately as part of a memory: Ren recognized the skyline of Hosnian Prime, and before the smuggler, a woman with dark hair and skin. The smuggler indeed had no name to go with the face, but Ren would make do.

“It’s a shame,” Ren said, “to leave you alive when your only friend is gone.”

The smuggler’s eyes widened, then went lax just like every other part of him. Ren lifted his boot off of his chest and left him there in the sands.

* * *

Ren checked the smuggler’s ship and found next to nothing. He checked every compartment and crawlspace and found just a few protein bars and an old shovel. Nothing else was of interest, and the ship itself wasn’t salvageable. He’d leave it behind, when he left. He had a few more days; the bodies would have to be taken care of, lest they start to stink in the sun.

Later, though. For the moment, Ren headed back into the trees armed with the shovel. The smuggler’s memory of the Corellian whiskey had been linked to a specific tree somewhere around the temple. He’d seen his fath— _Han Solo_ drink for the sake of getting drunk when he was little and did not approve, yet he couldn’t deny that he had a taste for a drop of alcohol.

 _Weak_.

Ren pushed the voice aside. It was the temple and the Dark that told him this now, voices he would have to surmount. He reminded himself that repeatedly as he made his way toward the spot the smuggler’s memory had implied.

There was one tree, scrawny and dead, near the middle of the scattered woods. That’s where the smugglers had hidden their stash. Ren set about digging. It wasn’t hard work by any stretch of the imagination—not for him, anyway—and soon enough he hit something solid.

Ren pulled it up with some degree of effort. The box was large and still caked with sand and dirt and bits of dead grass. When Ren pried the top of it off, he found exactly what the smuggler had described: Corellian whiskey, and rather a lot of it.

An errand thought crossed his mind: Hux would probably like the stuff. Ren had remembered alcohol in Hux’s quarters before he’d torn them to shreds and burnt the bits with his lightsaber, furious and near mad from the torment.

 _Ah_. There was something he could ask the temple. It would attempt to lie, no doubt, but Ren would get through. He would tackle it again, and persevere.

He returned to the beach where the two ships, his own shuttle and the smugglers’ wreck of a thing, sat. If only because he’d gone to the trouble to dig it up, he brought the whiskey with him, too, and after another moment’s thought, he loaded it onto his shuttle.

It would be funny, he mused, if he waved it in Hux’s face then refused to give him any. He wondered how Hux would react to the bait.

 _Probably not at all_ , he thought, but it was fun to fantasize.

* * *

Ren waited until the next day to tackle the temple again. He lay in the shuttle, leaving the doors open to let in a breeze, and listened to the waves as they lapped the shore as he fell asleep, and in the morning, he rose with the sun.

He took from the shuttle’s rations, which still carried enough food and water to support a full squadron of stormtroopers for five days, then readied himself. If he wanted to get information out of the Dark, he’d have to be prepared. He couldn’t stride in like he had last time, overconfident and cocksure.

Ren stared at the structure as it stood, resolute and silent. When he mounted the stairs, he felt knives in his legs and fire in his hair, but still he pressed on. His vision went blurry as pressure was applied to his eyes and his throat screamed as it was compressed, but still he pressed on.

He made it to the top of the stairs. That the temple had inflicted such a trial told Ren nothing—either it disapproved of his presence, or it understood that he was capable of withstanding more.

Ren fell to his knees at the entrance to catch his breath. He thought he could hear that voice, the one that had tempted him with visions of bloody glory and valor undying, laughing at his expense. Ren forced himself not to let anger well within him. If he attempted to fight the Dark in this place, he would not prevail.

Instead, he crossed his legs, bringing his feet up to settle on his thighs, and shut his eyes. Ren wasn’t much for classical meditation postures, but there was something to be said for doing things the old way when faced with an old place.

With his eyes shut, he could feel the Force weaving around him, all Dark and deep and searching here, scrutinizing. It didn’t know why he’d returned after he’d failed.

Ren conjured to mind the _Finalizer_ , the thing that had haunted him after Hux left it. He posed the question to the Dark, asking after that shrieking, wrathful thing that refused to let him be.

The Dark remained silent.

Ren called Hux’s face to mind. Sometimes the Force cared about _who_ was responsible for events more so than the events themselves. It was a problem that had plagued the old Masters of the Jedi, for they knew the deeds of the Sith but not their identities and so were powerless to seek answers.

Here and now, Ren had a source: Brendol Hux, Jr., General of the First Order, the only of his kind. The admiralty bowed to his will. Ren was his only equal, and he needed to understand just what he was working with.

Or, what he was up against. He and Hux weren’t on the same side, exactly. They were, but—

The Dark sung out. Ren heard the voices he’d heard before, deep and low and thrumming and palpable. They chanted and grew louder and softer, baying and whispering at moments.

A vision appeared before Ren’s eyes, utterly unlike what he’d been shown before.

Ren had had visions in the past: true visions through the Force. They showed him the past from time to time: he’d seen a woman standing before a grand body, speaking vehemently of democracy and the strength of the Republic; a young Jedi, still a padawan learner, crying over a dead Master; Luke Skywalker facing off against Darth Vader, lightsabers clashing in an intricate dance.

Those were of some interest to Ren, but of greater import were the bits of the future, those moments that the Force had determined to be immutable enough to show as facts though they had not yet come to pass.

Of these, Ren had had only a few. When he was still under Luke’s tutelage, he’d seen a vision of the school in the rain, the ground underfoot soaked and muddy, a red lightsaber in his own hand. When he’d come to Snoke, he’d had a vision of a soldier dressed head to toe in chrome mowing down protestors as if they were no more than insects before piling the bodies and setting them alight. One, which had not yet come to pass, was of a girl dressed in peculiar clothing that looked like gauze. She ran through the trees—away from him, Ren understood. He wondered who she was and why the Force seemed to thrum in that vision, its edges blurred as if with uncertainty.

Now, though. Now, Ren was presented with a new vision, one that would undoubtedly prove as true as those which had preceded it. He slipped into the vision…

 

 _Everything was grey—the walls, the ceiling. The ground was cold under Ren. All over, his body ached, but he was resting against something warm and alive—_ safe _, he thought. He was safe. When he tried to reach up, his gloves were soaked in blood. It was his, and he was dying._

_“Stay with me now, Ren.”_

_A voice, low and very close. There was a deep fear and sadness and longing and pain, so much pain, all wrapped up in that voice. Ren knew that voice._

_Ren said something, or tried to._

_“Kylo, stay with me. You promised. Get—get up…”_

_Ren rolled slightly, pain shooting through him. He was propped against someone—Hux. He was disheveled, dressed in civilian clothes with mussed hair and absolute fear in his eyes._

_Ren’s eyes shut._

 

Ren jolted out of the vision and doubled over, breathing hard. He was sick there on the smooth stones of the temple, the Dark mocking him for his weakness.

He would die. Hux would be there, holding him, willing him not to die.

Ren dragged himself away from the temple. He staggered over the sands until the waves lapped at his thighs, then came to kneel in the water. The sea came up to his chest and rushed up to his shoulders. Ren ducked under and came back up just to feel the contrast between breathing and not. Dying had felt so _real_ —

He remained in the water for a very long time.


	16. Entr'Acte (Burning, Burning, Burning)

Ren might have felt it then, had he not been up to his chest in the ocean trying to remember how to feel, his mind awash in the Dark and the endless possibilities of _how_ —

General Organa certainly did—she was always searching for her son in the Force. Their connection, severed years ago when he’d cut ties, fluoresced in the Force, burning bright and violent for just a few seconds. She had to sit down, gasping for breath.

Luke did, too, halfway across the galaxy and alone. He hadn’t been looking for his nephew but for _hope_. He shivered with it and didn’t dare bring himself to name it, the stones of the ground digging into his knees as he struggled to breathe.

Aboard the _Finalizer_ , FN-2187 stumbled and fell out of line during one of Phasma’s drills, sure that something important had just happened—like the artificial gravity had just changed by a few degrees.

On Jakku, Rey felt it. She stared at the sky for a few moments, wondering—she had a _feeling_ , deep in her bones, that something had changed. The sun burned hotter for just a moment.

Even Han, navigating hyperspace aboard a stolen freighter as he prepared to catch a couple of rathtars with Chewbacca and a couple of guys he didn’t think were going to make it, felt something.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Chewie,” he muttered.

* * *

The disturbance was not within the Force exactly but without it—around it, containing it. The Force writhed and wrung and, for just a moment, burned so bright that the space around it morphed, too.

The universe tilted.


	17. The Morning After

Hux woke with a throbbing headache that did a stunning impersonation of a supernova behind his eyelids, a disgusting taste in his mouth that made him sick to his stomach, and the thought that his new mattress offered all of no support to any part of his body.

In the next moment, he determined why: he wasn’t _on_ the mattress, he was on the floor, wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing—yesterday? Or earlier today? He tried to lift his head to check the time and immediately lay back down and shut his eyes with a sharp curse. The lights had been left on.

“Lights, 0%,” he called, hoarse enough that the controls didn’t register his voice as his own. Humiliated, he had to try again, and only then was he permitted the luxury of darkness.

As he lay prone on the floor, memories came back to him, not with stunning clarity but with enough coherence that he could piece together the events. Ren had come to the bridge—Hux’s shift hadn’t been over, but Ren had said that it was important, and that was that. It had been evening, so to speak, given the _Finalizer_ ’s internal chrono, so he hadn’t had much time left on his shift anyway. Ren had brought him to his own quarters to show him the whiskey he’d brought back with him as a gift.

 _The whiskey_. Hux rolled over on the floor, noting how he’d managed to pull part of the covers off of his bed some time during the night. His glass had made it’s way to the floor, too; Hux saw it’s silhouette a short distance away. Hux craned his head to see if Ren had left the chest in Hux’s room. There it was, still up on his desk. Hux glared at it as if it were personally responsible for his predicament, then shut his eyes again.

Ren had gotten him drunk. It was most likely unintentional, given what Hux remembered, but that didn’t erase the fact that he _had_ , and Hux resented it. Ren had left him, passed out and probably snoring and drooling on his own bed, still fully dressed and with the lights on. What a picture he must have made.

Hux hoped to whatever gods there were or to the Force or to whatever might be listening that Ren _hadn’t taken any holos_ while he’d been unconscious.

Hux forced himself up off of the floor, aware of the many knotted muscles and aches from sleeping as he had. He needed to take care of his headache and the terrible taste in his mouth. With any luck, he was early for his shift and not late; Ren’s antics aside, Hux prided himself on his own punctuality and perpetually immaculate appearance.

He dragged himself to the adjoining refresher and hoisted himself up. From the mirror, his reflection stared back, red-eyed and sallow-faced and horrifying. His hair stuck up in all directions from sleeping with gel in it, and he had an indentation from the covers on one side of his face. He groaned and leaned forward, shutting his eyes against the bright lights of the ‘fresher. There was no way Hux could go out to a shift like this. He needed to get himself cleaned up, or else he needed an excuse not to go out at all. It would be obvious to anyone who so much as glanced at him what he’d done, and he didn’t think he could handle the stares.

Except, the _Finalizer_ was still orbiting Rakata Prime. Hux needed to set a new course, which meant he needed to _talk_ to someone.

Hux groaned again and hunched over further, resting his head against the wall. Damn Ren. Damn him, plying Hux with alcohol, and for what?

 _I was hoping to make another agreement. Written. Signed_. Unless Hux was misremembering, something he sincerely doubted, those had been Ren’s exact words. Hux tightened his grip on the ‘fresher’s version of a sink.

Had Ren gotten him drunk to get him to sign something insidious? Surely not. Except, not long after he’d made that statement, Ren had done something as Hux lay there, incredibly drunk. He’d told Hux to sleep, and that was the last thing he knew.

Hux shut his eyes and willed himself to dig deeper. Surely there had to be something else. Hux was not an easy sleeper, even with alcohol. If Ren had used the Force, there was no telling what had happened after.

Hux had seen Ren do it before, making others pass out or bend to his will. The Force, whatever spiritual power it could be considered, was an incredible tool, one Hux himself often wished to possess for himself. Ren had used the Force on him to incapacitate him with a wave of his hand.

Hux tightened his tightened his grip on the sink and willed himself to breathe. In the mirror, his complexion mocked him. He fought the urge to be ill as an uncomfortable feeling flooded Hux’s gut— _helplessness_. He felt helpless. Ren had used the Force on him before, of course, but he’d been able to _fight_. Even with invisible hands around his neck, he’d been aware and capable of fighting back.

Now, it was clear: Ren could storm into his quarters any time he pleased and destroy what he wished. He could make Hux sleep, or kill him, with just the wave of a hand.

Hux swallowed, tasting bile at the back of his throat as panic set in. First things first. He needed to know the time. From there, he’d decide if he thought he could get straightened up before his next shift started, provided it hadn’t already.

After that…

Hux swallowed again. One thing at a time.

* * *

_Everything was grey—the walls, the ceiling. The ground was cold under Ren._

The vision echoed behind Ren’s eyelids, haunting his dreams and waking hours alike. After he’d left Hux, he’d returned to his own quarters only to find that he could not sleep. His plan had backfired spectacularly, but how was he to know that Hux couldn’t hold his liquor?

They would have to talk when Hux sobered up. Ren knew he was awake, at least—or, the Force emanating from his quarters had changed just the slightest bit. It was altered, though from the alcohol or from something else, Ren knew not. He couldn’t focus on it, either. Every thought he had came back around to that vision—a glimpse of his own death.

Ren shivered, feeling the cold. _The ground was cold_. Despite the relative warmth of his surroundings, the phantom sensation of that cold, hard floor refused to leave him. He ran his fingers over his legs and his lower back, the points of contact, and found the skin warm. It was all in his head, not that knowledge of the fact helped in the slightest.

Ren didn’t recognize the place where he died. It was a building of some sort, with a high domed ceiling and plain walls. He could no longer remember if there were pillars or just smooth stone. The aches, though—no doubt from whatever injuries he suffered prior to the premonition, though he could not identify one single wound—those remained with Ren as if he’d been inflicted with them permanently. Just like the cold, he felt the dull throb of _hurt_ in his legs and his torso especially, and across his face.

Still. He’d felt _safe_. He’d looked up at Hux and he’d felt—

_“Stay with me now, Ren.”_

That was Hux’s voice. Outside of the vision, Ren was sure of it. He was sure, too, that Hux was terribly afraid. Whether that fear was for Ren or for whatever had happened to him or for something else, Ren knew not.

(He wanted to know. He desperately wanted to know what could bring them to his point, that Hux would willingly support his dying body and all but plead with him to stay alive.)

 _Ren said something, or tried to_.

Every time Ren attempted to move his mouth in the same way to determine what he’d been going for, he failed. Whatever he would say, the Force had masked it. Ren didn’t know if that meant that it was mutable and subject to change, or if that meant that preknowledge would change the course of the vision and alter the fabric of fate itself.

_“Kylo, stay with me. You promised. Get—get up…”_

Ren swallowed. Hux never used his name, only his title. It was one of the many courtesies they did one another—Hux was always Hux, or General Hux, or General; Ren was always Ren. There were protocols, _rules_.

What could happen for Hux to cross such a line?

_He was disheveled, dressed in civilian clothes with mussed hair and absolute fear in his eyes._

Ren couldn’t make heads or tails of that aspect of the vision. Perhaps Ren died while they were undercover, except there was no reason for Hux—the lynchpin of the First Order’s armies and the only one with the authority to command the Admiralty—to ever be anywhere but at his post aboard the _Finalizer_ or any flagship of his choosing. Or, of course, Starkiller. Even the Resistance, foolish though they were, kept their Generals and Admirals carefully hidden behind the lines. It was idiocy to do anything else.

_Ren’s eyes shut._

Ren took a deep breath and willed the vision away. He’d always known that he would die, not in some comfortable bed at a point far in the future but on the battlefield and in glory, bloody and victorious. The vision, though… The vision looked less like glory and victory and more like martyrdom and loss. Ren supposed it made no difference so long as the end result was the same—the establishment of order, _balance_.

(He hoped the end result was the same. It had to be.)

The horrified look on Hux’s face gave him more than a moment’s pause. Whatever Ren did or had done to himself, Hux didn’t like it.

Hux’s _face_ itself had Ren failing to breathe. He looked young, so young. If the premonition was to be believed—and Ren had no doubt that it was a true vision through the Force—he did not have long to live.

Ren swallowed and told himself that it didn’t matter.

* * *

Hux found he had five standard hours before the start of his shift. He thought he had plenty of time to put himself together. He had a droid bring him something to eat and meds for his headache, though his appetite was weak and the thought of eating turned his stomach. He did his best to finish it, then had the droid dispose of the rest. He spent all too long in the ‘fresher, for once desperate for his skin to take on its  _normal_ pallor as opposed to the sickly one he’d been graced with courtesy of his hangover. He scrubbed at his teeth, his hair, his face, with the singular goal of looking like he hadn’t slept on the floor in yesterday’s clothes while dead drunk.

Hux failed, miserably.

Resigned and irate with his own failure to make himself even _slightly_ presentable, Hux informed Mitaka that he’d be taking Hux’s duties for the day and that he was to consult with Ren as to their next target. Even staring at his datapad, the screen so bright and the text so small, exacerbated his headache, something the meds hadn’t managed to fix yet. He knew he was making the right decision, and yet…

His datapad _ping_ ed.

 _And Phasma?_ Mitaka asked.

Hux read the line twice before he remembered: he was meant to meet with Phasma privately about the ‘troopers. It wasn’t a requirement, necessarily, but since the program was his idea (from his father, granted, but he was dead and this was in Hux’s lap) he took a personal and vested interest in its success.

 _Meet with her and send me a report_ , Hux sent. He tossed the datapad aside and groaned. When he opened his eyes, his gaze caught on that chest full of whiskey. He considered—just for a moment—taking a drink, if only to take the edge off, then cursed himself and his weakness. He’d rest until he returned to top form, and then he’d continue his good work. As soon as he felt capable, he’d have the chest taken away. The officers deserved something, he thought distantly. It _was_ good whiskey. The thought made his mouth water.

 _No_ , Hux thought. He’d get rid of it. No more drinks, especially not with Ren.

* * *

“Sir,” Mitaka said when Ren came onto the bridge. Ren looked about and found no trace of Hux.

“Where is the General?” Ren asked, the vocoder enhancing the menace in his voice. Mitaka swallowed. His hands were actually _quivering_. Mitaka was a skittish thing—brilliant, allegedly, but oh so easily frightened. It delighted Ren to no end.

“I’ve assumed the General’s responsibilities for the day, Ren,” Mitaka said. Ren supposed the odd lilt in his voice was an attempt to make himself sound more confident than he actually was. As a point of fact, Ren could nearly _taste_ Mitaka’s fear. “He’s asked me to confer with you regarding our next course of action.”

Ren tilted his head, considering. “I take it he left you with an option for a prospective system?” he asked.

Mitaka paled. “No, sir.”

Ren waited. “Do you have a suggestion?” he asked, mostly to see how terrified Mitaka would get when forced into the spotlight. Would he stutter? Debase Hux by deferring to Ren’s opinion when he was meant to stand as Hux’s replacement for the day?

“Jakku,” Mitaka said definitively.

There was a surprise. Ren wanted to laugh, but Mitaka was so frightened that Ren thought he might faint on the spot. Why Hux had picked Mitaka for this position when he was so clearly incapable of it confounded Ren.

“You think the map to Skywalker is on a Jakku?” Ren asked.

Mitaka bit both of his lips simultaneously. Ren wondered if he’d actually chew part of his own face off to get out of this conversation.

“It is a possibility,” Mitaka said.

“I think not,” Ren said, if only to boss Mitaka around. It _was_ a possibility, but an unlikely one. His encounter with the smugglers on Rakata Prime had left him with an odd feeling. The Resistance had enlisted the aid of their for the acquisition and transport of spare parts and the like. If anyone was to know where the map had gone, it was either someone with the Force or a smuggler who’d moved it in the first place.

“I think Gannaria is our next move,” Ren said.

“Gannaria?” Mitaka asked. The fear clouding his eyes receded somewhat, replaced by curiosity. “The place is crawling with spice smugglers and miners.”

“Do you not trust my methods?” Ren asked, knowing full well that the question was a loaded one.

Mitaka frowned. “I will alert the General of our respective opinions. I trust them insofar as he does.”

 _Ah_. There it was. Mitaka might have been frightened, scared stiff of someone substantially taller and stronger than he, but his loyalty—and _oh_ what loyalty it was—to Hux made him invaluable.

Ren tucked away that bit of information as he stood beside Mitaka, his silence failing to put the Lieutenant at ease. He’d always known that the officers aboard the _Finalizer_ respected Hux, but Mitaka’s particular personal loyalty seemed unique.

Then again, there was Kader. And Phasma—Ren knew better than to leave her out. The three of them were rarely far from Hux’s side.

The vision appeared before his eyes again—Hux, seemingly alone, with Ren. Ren was dying.

Ren balled his hands into fists and willed the bridge to stop spinning.

“General Hux approves of your plan and sends his apologies that he could not discuss with you in person,” Mitaka said, cutting through Ren’s anxieties. “We shall proceed to Gannaria first.”

“Does he,” Ren murmured. Across the _Finalizer_ , he felt nothing but distress. “Did he mention what ails him that he cannot be on the bridge himself?”

Mitaka shook his head. “The General’s reasons are his own,” he said. He visibly hesitated, clearly considering something else as the _Finalizer_ jumped to hyperspace.

“And?” Ren asked.

“And nothing, sir,” Mitaka said.

Ren prodded Mitaka’s mind and found _doubt_.

“Do you believe the General to be shirking his duty?” he asked.

Mitaka stiffened. Ren knew the answer to be _no_ before he even opened his mouth.

“Of course not, sir,” Mitaka said. “It’s… You and the General are the greatest assets of the First Order.” He stared squarely ahead, finally at ease beside Ren. “We need you both in top form if we wish to succeed.”

Mitaka believed every word of what he’d said—he thought Ren and Hux necessary to the success of the First Order. Ren found he could say nothing in the face of such trust. He felt, too, a pang of envy. His Knights were loyal to the Force and to the balance of it, not to him. He wondered what it would feel like to have someone like Mitaka loyal to a fault only to him.

“I shall ensure the General is indeed recuperating his strength,” Ren said. “If you are right, he will need it.”


	18. Loose Lips Sink Ships

A knock—an actual knock—at Hux’s door had him standing up so fast his head spun. He’d dozed off. He hadn’t meant to; he’d just been resting, waiting for the painkillers to kick in so that he could at least function within the confines of his quarters. Now, his pulse fast and pounding in his ears, Hux forced himself off of his bed to check who was outside the door.

_Phasma_.

Hux felt himself sag just a little. He wasn’t sure why he was disappointed, if that was even the right word, but he was. Besides that, he most certainly did not wish to speak to Phasma. While he doubted that she’d say anything, she’d notice his haphazard appearances. She’d see him as he was, and he was sure a nap had done absolutely nothing to smooth over his haggard look.

Petty as it was, Hux declined to answer her knocks. Perhaps she’d go away. If he’d been thinking clearly, he’d have known that he didn’t have a chance, but his headache wasn’t fully gone and he was a wreck. He let her knock, hiding his eyes behind an arm as he lay—not on the floor this time, but on his _bed_. A mattress, no matter how thin, was better than the floor.

Phasma didn’t leave. Hux’s datapad _ping_ ed with a message from her.

_Sir,_ her message said, _I am outside your quarters. Do you feel well enough to discuss a matter of some import?_

Hux couldn’t very well ignore that, though he now felt like a fool for ignoring her knock. She’d know, and it would be obvious that he was hiding.

_Foolish_. It would be obvious one way or another. He’d have to face his shame head-on. With that in mind, Hux opened the doors and did his best to stand up straight and not wince at the harsh light emanating from the hall. Phasma tilted her head, considering him from behind that mask of hers as the doors slid shut behind her.

“Lights, 40%,” Hux said. Thankfully, the lights obeyed on the first try and Hux was spared the indignity of a second attempt. Even at 40%, it seemed far brighter than he was prepared to handle. He squinted at Phasma as she stood still, appraising.

“May I?” she asked, gesturing at her helmet.

“At ease,” Hux said, resigned to whatever was about to happen. Carefully, Phasma removed her helmet, then ran a gloved hand through her hair to loosen it from where it lay plastered against her scalp.

“I’m glad to see you unharmed, sir,” Phasma said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I came to give a report on the mission to Rakata Prime yesterday. You must have been out. I became concerned when I heard that you’d taken the day off, and that Ren was the last one seen leaving your quarters. I assumed the worst,” she said. She looked him up and down. “ _Are_ you unharmed, sir?”

Hux took in a sharp breath. “Yes,” he said. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

Phasma stared at him. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Yesterday,” Hux said. “Last night.” Phasma continued to stare. “I’ll split the liquor with you and you tell no one.”

Phasma smiled with half of her face. “Agreed,” she said. She offered her hand, and Hux shook it.

“Before that, since you’re here,” Hux said, “should we discuss…?”

“Rakata Prime? Or the VR corps,” Phasma said. “If you feel well enough, sir.”

Hux flushed. “Captain,” he snapped, as if they weren’t standing in his quarters and gravitating toward a chest full of smuggled whiskey that he intended to split in return for her silence on the matter of his own hangover. “Your reports,” he demanded.

They spoke for a time, Hux at his desk, one hand running idly over the lid of the chest, Phasma standing, helmet under one arm. There had been no surprises on the mission to Rakata Prime. There were many artifacts from previous civilizations and evidence of smuggling, but nothing that tipped them off to the location of the map. From what Phasma could see, whatever smugglers used the planet did so irregularly and had not visited in some time.

As for the VR corps, they were doing rather well for a new squadron. Normally it took a full cycle to get mature ‘troopers fully conditioned for combat, but these had picked up a penchant for it with preternatural speed. Phasma credited the conditioning program; Hux thought it was Phasma’s rigorous training regiment.

“Together, I’m sure we can continue to reap such results,” Hux said.

“Yes, sir,” Phasma said. She looked to the chest around the same moment Hux did, clearly curious.

“This information does not leave this room,” Hux said.

“You have my word, sir,” Phasma said.

“Shortly after you returned from Rakata Prime, Ren dropped this off,” he said, tapping on the chest. “Corellian whiskey, and rather a lot of it. He said he got it from smugglers planetside. He and I had a drink before…” Hux flushed. Phasma had the grace to keep her expression blank. “I’m tempted to have you take the entire thing.”

“Ren brought it?” Phasma asked. She eyed the chest with trepidation now.

“It’s not poisoned,” Hux said. “Otherwise, I’d be having a rather worse day.”

Phasma smiled with half of her face again. “I did not suspect so, sir,” she said. “Only…”

“Only?”

“I do not think it’s a good idea to take any of this off of your hands, sir,” she said.

“And why not?”

“Ren would be displeased.” Hux made a noise of question, and Phasma said, “He went to some trouble to bring this to you. I doubt he would look kindly on someone else possessing it.”

Hux waved a hand. “It’s alcohol. Besides, I doubt Ren gives any thought to myself beyond my usefulness to the Order. He can’t think I’ll drink all of this myself.”

“He brought it for you, sir,” Phasma said. She lifted the lid, one eyebrow rising at the sight of the contents. “Strong stuff, too—good whiskey. No wonder.”

“What?” Hux asked. Phasma looked him up and down, and Hux flushed again. “Never mind that,” he said. “You’re dismissed. I hear a word about this and I’ll know it came from you.”

Phasma nodded once before replacing her helmet. “General,” she said, the modulator altering her voice.

As she made to leave his quarters, she stopped short just beyond the doorway. The doors slid shut with her cape stuck between the panels and slid open once more after belatedly sensing the offending piece of fabric. Hux might have laughed had he not caught sight of Ren standing directly in front of Phasma. He wondered if they’d actually collided with each other, or if Ren had already been standing there when Phasma made to leave. Eavesdropping? It wasn’t out of the question for Ren.

“Ren, in,” Hux eager to get them both out of his hair for the day. “Good day, Phasma.”

The sound of his voice had the two of them moving. Ren slipped past Phasma and into Hux’s quarters, and Phasma marched swiftly away.

* * *

Ren yanked his helmet off as soon as the doors to Hux’s quarters were closed and openly stared.

Hux was a _mess_.

“Did you have something you wanted to say?” Hux asked. He sneered, but the green tinge to his face ruined the effect.

“You look terrible,” Ren said.

Hux’s scowl deepened. “Out,” he ordered.

Ren put up his hands. “My apologies,” he said. “I did not know that you lacked a tolerance for alcohol. If I’d known I might have watered it down.” Hux looked fit to throw punches. Ren guessed he’d offended him.

“I don’t feel like fighting with you today, Ren,” Hux said. “As you must have found out, I’ve taken the day. If you have something constructive to say, talk to Mitaka.”

“I have. He’s loyal to you,” Ren said.

“Of course he is.”

Ren frowned. “I mean, he’s loyal to _you_.”

Hux frowned back at him. “What are you implying?” Hux asked.

The words bubbled up in Ren—that Mitaka valued Hux over the First Order itself, that the more Ren thought about it, so did Kader and Phasma and probably many officers besides, and what did Hux think about that? What did _Hux_ believe in?

No sound passed Ren’s lips.

“If you’ve something to say, spit it out,” Hux said. “Thanks to you, I slept poorly and feel like absolute shite.”

The way Hux cursed was charming, Ren thought. Quaint and utterly at odds with the persona he put on.

_Charming_. He’d just used _charming_ to describe Hux. He straightened himself up, shocked at himself.

“General,” Ren said, struggling to so much as speak. He was not ready for this. He hadn’t been ready the night before—he’d brought _alcohol_ , as if that had ever helped—and he hadn’t been ready on Rakata Prime.

The vision danced before his eyes. The two Hux’s—the real one and the one from the premonition—slid side by side.

“Ren?” Hux asked. In the time it took to blink, his face had shifted. How long had Ren been staring?

Ren drew himself up and watched Hux do the same.

“I came to make sure you were well, General,” Ren said. “I had no idea you were such a lightweight.”

Hux’s entire face went red.

“You _did_ something,” Hux snarled.

“To help you sleep,” Ren said. “I know it’s something you struggle with.”

“And how do you know that?” Hux snapped.

Ren stopped short. “I know,” Ren said. “Does it matter how?”

“I asked you a question.”

“And I gave you an answer.”

Hux took a step closer. Ren noticed for the first time that Hux wasn’t wearing the entirety of his uniform—the greatcoat was absent, as was the jacket. Hux’s shirt was unbuttoned at the throat.

Behind him, his bed was almost entirely unmade, the sheets mostly down on the floor. The glass Hux had been holding was still on the floor, too.

“You drugged me,” Hux said, “then _used the Force_ to coerce me to sleep. You then left me exactly where I lay, did who knows what, then left with the lights still on.”

“I see that I’ve upset you,” Ren said. “That was not—”

Hux cursed, and it was decidedly less charming than before because of the vicious anger that laced the words.

“You _will not_ do that again,” Hux said.

“Do what?” Ren asked, feeling bold.

“You will not use the Force on me without my consent,” Hux said. “You do _nothing_ without my consent.”

Ren tilted his head. “I’ll agree to your terms,” he said.

Hux’s shoulders sagged just a little. Ren doubted he knew he’d relaxed so viscerally.

_Wait_.

Hux’s cheeks didn’t color, but he did freeze ever so slightly as he took in a deep breath and held it, and Ren understood why Hux had felt _off_ from across the _Finalizer_ : he was afraid. Ren had finally succeeded in scaring his colleague, and at the worst possible moment.

“You said you wanted an agreement,” Hux said, voice tight, “in writing.”

“Signed,” Ren said, latching onto Hux’s line of thought.

“I want that appended to it,” Hux said. “You do not use the Force on me.”

“Without your consent,” Ren said. Hux glared at him.

“I can think of no circumstance in which I would consent to such trickery,” Hux said.

Ren shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said. “Very well. Have it your way. You are willing to agree to our previous terms once more?”

Hux stared at him before saying, “Yes, so long as you agree to yours.”

“I will not fail again,” Ren said. “I would disappoint the Supreme Leader.”

Hux didn’t look like he believed him. In truth, the lie sat poorly with Ren. No doubt the Supreme Leader wouldn’t care one whit about the state of the contract between himself and Hux, so long as Ren fulfilled his mission to understand the anomaly in the Force that Ren had observed aboard the _Finalizer_. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“Did you come prepared to draw up a document?” Hux asked.

“ _You promised_.” The premonition echoed in Ren’s mind. What had he promised?

“I don’t know,” Ren said.

“You don’t know,” Hux echoed. “How can you not—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair. It wasn’t gelled, Ren noticed. Ren had never seen it without—it looked soft, if a little thin.

“Tomorrow,” Hux said. “I have an empty appointment slot. You and I will meet then before you head down to Gannaria.” His face wrinkled. “Why there?” Ren tilted his head. “Mitaka told me you suggested Gannaria. Spice miners and smugglers are the only visitors.”

“When I found that,” he said, nodding at the chest, “the smugglers were still alive.”

“You mentioned so much,” Hux said. “Did they have something to say that you _forgot_ to mention?”

Ren sidestepped the barb. “You were too intoxicated,” he said. Before Hux could get angry once more, he continued, “I’ve seen that the Resistance is using smugglers to acquire ships.”

“Which means they may be using them to hunt for the map,” Hux murmured.

“My thoughts exactly,” Ren said. “Gannaria is a hub used by most of the criminals of the Outer Rim for trafficking. If anyone knows anything, they’ll be there.”

“Or they’ll have passed through.”

“Loose lips sink ships,” Ren said.

Hux’s own lips drew into a thin line. “Spouting Rebellion propaganda now, are you?” he asked. Ren started. He hadn’t known the expression had originated in the Rebellion, but now that he thought of it, it was _Han Solo_ who’d said it… “At any rate, your plan is sound.” He waved his hand as if to dismiss Ren.

Ren wasn’t ready to leave, not yet.

“It was not my intention to get you drunk or to cause you discomfort,” Ren said.

“We’ve tried to kill each other,” Hux said. “I put nothing past you.”

“Does that mean that you don’t believe me?” Ren asked.

Hux sighed. “What is this?” he asked.

“This?”

“This,” Hux said. “You. Acting strangely. You brought me alcohol and now you’re acting _polite_ , or whatever passes for polite wherever you came from. Did you hit your head on Rakata Prime?”

Familiar anger flared within Ren at the accusation. “Why, General,” he said, “I was merely trying to infuse our relationship with _civility_ , something you seem to be lacking today.”

Hux barked a laugh. “As if you know what the word means.” He rubbed at his temples as if the sound had pained him.

“I’ll leave you now, General,” Ren said. “Take care that you are prepared to keep your end of our bargain come tomorrow.”

“You should be telling yourself,” Hux said, lacing his words with venom. “I’m not the one who broke it in the first place.”


	19. Signed and Sealed

Several standard and sleepless hours later, Ren realized that he still hadn’t told Hux.

He didn’t know how to begin, really. _The Force says that you hold me close as I die_ sounded maudlin and false. Hux would suspect Ren wanted something from him, and he did, which made it worse, but—

 _But_. Ren stared at his ceiling in his dark quarters and willed himself to stillness. He’d always found it difficult, and now it was no easier. He tried to breathe, counting so that he slowed his pulse, but his mind refused to quiet and his body itched with the need to move.

He’d have to tell Hux. Today.

Ren closed his eyes, not that it made much difference in the darkness. He and Hux would sign their contract, and Ren would tell him then. And then…

Gannaria, Ren supposed. It was probably for the best. Hux would be livid, and Ren would need to get away from him to so much as think. Then, it would be over. Hux could make of it what he wanted to, and it would come to pass regardless. He needed to consider it no further.

 _You need to tell the Supreme Leader_.

Ren shivered at the thought. It wouldn’t end there; Snoke needed to know about the vision. That should take priority, and yet…

And yet.

Ren swallowed and sat up in bed. He would meet with Hux, go to Gannaria, and then what would happen would happen. The thought of meeting with Snoke—of dissecting his own death, discussing the ramifications, possibilities, analyzing Hux’s involvement and every little detail—had Ren shaking. Snoke would pull the memory of the vision from his mind. It couldn’t be allowed, it couldn’t—

Ren balled his hands into fists so tightly he could feel the dig of his own nails as he nearly broke skin. He wanted to protect his vision. He didn’t even want to tell _Hux_ , much less the Supreme Leader.

And yet.

All around him the _Finalizer_ thrummed, pulsating and shuddering as it lurked near Gannaria itself. They’d arrived; Ren was sure of it. Hyperspace felt different than regular space, as if it were warmer or harder or grittier, not that any of those terms could be an adequate descriptor. Hux was awake, too; of that Ren was sure. He felt like he usually did—which is to say, _loud_ and _violent_ and _furious_ —but gone was that sour underpinning of fear which had clouded his presence. Whatever had affected him yesterday, it was gone now.

Ren steeled himself and told himself that he was being ridiculous. It didn’t make anything any easier.

* * *

Hux dressed in a clean, pressed uniform, triple-checked himself in the mirror, and took a deep breath.

He had seen no one since Ren’s departure. His shift was about to begin and he was—not _anxious_ , but tense. Ready for anything. They were in Gannarian airspace, after all. Smugglers and thieves and miscreants lurked in these parts. Never mind their usefulness as informants and eyes on the ground, Hux abhorred them to a person. They were the antithesis to everything he believed in. They were filthy and disorderly and disorganized; they rebelled against rules and regulations of all kinds without regard for the consequences.

Hux had half a mind to bomb the entire planet after the scouting party finished their survey. It gave him a sort of satisfaction that he could order such a strike and that it would go unquestioned.

Still, potential assets might be destroyed in the process. Better to send down a squadron with Ren to search for the map with the joint purpose of inspecting the place to see if there was anything of use or if Gannaria really was just an abomination in need of cleansing.

Hux considered the matter as he stood in the ‘fresher, boots polished to a shine, not a single strand of hair out of place. He preferred himself dressed as opposed to not. That Phasma—worse, _Ren_ —had seen him in a state of disarray massively upset him, but now was not the time to think of it. Gannaria, and then the meeting of High Command. If Ren decided to dally, Hux would have to leave him behind.

The thought gave him less satisfaction than it usually did.

Hux hadn’t had much time to reflect on it, but the little that he’d had had been _too_ much. Ren had been civil to him—cordial. Not in a regular manner, as if anything about Ren was regular, but he’d _tried_.

Hux didn’t know what was behind such an effort, but he was sure that Ren had some sort of ulterior motive, and he did not like it one bit. If Ren wanted something from him other than what Hux intended to give him in their agreement, then he would have to fight tooth and nail for it.

(Or, _Force_ and nail. Hux was utterly outmatched but he wouldn’t give a single iota of ground if he could help it.)

He turned away from the mirror and exited his quarters without once glancing at the chest still resting on his desk, the very picture of power.

* * *

Ren received a message at exactly 0945 from Hux.

_CR5634, 1000_. It was a conference room; Ren had been in it only once, or so he thought. 1000…that didn’t give him much time. Knowing Hux, he’d be furious if Ren were late.

Ren cut the quickest path he could think of across the _Finalizer_ , nearly knocking over several officers who couldn’t be bothered to look up to get out of his way. They would learn eventually; Ren stood aside for no one.

When he arrived at CR5634, it was 1001. The door was unlocked, and Hux stood inside, staring out a viewport.

“Ren,” Hux said.

“General,” Ren replied. The doors slid shut behind him, and he wondered if Hux was going to make a snide remark about the time.

“I’d rather make this quick,” Hux said, turning from the viewport. He looked much better than he had before. Gone was that sour look to his complexion, though his expression could still be described as such. He clearly did not want to be there. Still, he’d set the meeting. Ren had come. They would sign their contract and be done with it.

 _And you’ll tell him_ , Ren thought in a voice that most certainly did not belong to him. It was too young, too light. Ren squashed it as panic welled in his chest. This was going too far, he needed to talk to the Supreme Leader, he needed—

“Ren?”

Ren looked to Hux, who had the audacity to glare at him. Ren removed his helmet and glared right back.

“Did you bring anything, or will I be drawing it up myself?” Hux asked.

Ren clenched his jaw and said, “You do it.”

Hux’s scowl deepened. “I thought you might be so unprepared,” he said, “so I took the liberty of drawing a contract in the meantime.” He handed Ren a datapad. “Does this suit you?”

Ren scanned over the carefully worded Aurebesh. It was an exact match to what they had agreed on, with the addendum that Ren was not to use the Force on Hux without his consent.

“What kind of consent?” Ren asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Here,” Ren said.

Hux scoffed. “We talked about this yesterday.”

“I know. I asked you a question.”

“Verbal,” Hux said, “obviously. Don’t go rummaging around in my mind. That’s part of our agreement, unless you didn’t actually bother to read it.”

Ren had read it. He thought it was going to prove exceptionally difficult in the next few minutes, but he had never shied away from a challenge before.

“I have no reservations,” Ren said.

“Good,” Hux said. “Then sign it so we can be done with it.”

Ren didn’t see a point, but he could tell that Hux was smugly satisfied with the notion, so Ren signed off. He handed the pad back, andHux did the same.

“Finally,” Hux said. “All finished.”

“Not quite.”

Hux glared at him. “Now what?” he asked.

“Relax,” Ren said, though from the look on Hux’s face, he was as far from relaxed as anyone could be without absolutely bouncing off of the walls. “You still have some time.”

“Quite,” Hux said, “and I have rather a lot to do.”

Ren hesitated, and Hux stared at him, eyes narrowing.

“Very well,” Ren said finally, tongue thick in his mouth. He reached for his helmet but did not put it back on. It felt heavy in his hands.

Hux didn’t move from his spot. “You’re hiding something,” he said. Ren stood still. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Ren said.

“You lie,” Hux insisted. “Tell me immediately.”

“There is nothing of importance to you,” Ren said.

Hux noticed the qualifier immediately. “But it’s important to _you_ , I suppose?”

Ren hesitated once more. He did not want to have this conversation.

 _Weak_. _Useless waste of space, can’t even speak._ Snoke’s voice, but if Snoke were there, Ren thought he’d be receiving more than just insults.

“I had a vision,” Ren said, “on Rakata Prime.”

“A vision,” Hux repeated. He stared at Ren as if he’d sprouted another head.

“Yes.”

“And?” Hux asked. Ren said nothing. Hux as he stood before him now, in his stiff uniform with his General’s stripes, was a far cry from Hux as he was in the vision, all panic and concern and— “You tell me this why?”

Ren blinked at Hux and said, “Simply because you were in it.”

“Really,” Hux said. His mouth moved strangely around the word. “Are you going to explain, or do I have to divine this vision of yours?” Ren stared at Hux until he had to look away. Ren wasn’t as satisfied by the outcome as he usually was.

“I must speak to the Supreme Leader about it soon,” Ren said.

“Then notify him,” Hux said. “Surely you know how.”

Ren did know how. They both did. That Hux would suggest otherwise was an insult Ren was willing to ignore for the time being.

“I will go to Gannaria first,” Ren said.

Hux narrowed his eyes. “Very well,” he said. “But you ought to hurry. You’ll have three days by Gannarian time if you leave now.”

“Only three?”

“High Command,” Hux reminded him. “We’re on a schedule, Ren. You ought to remember that.”

Ren bristled. “Perhaps you are,” he said. “You forget that I am not beholden to your _schedule_.”

Hux’s glare intensified. “Have it your way, then,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve better things to do.”

Ren stood, staring at the point where Hux had been. Hux would leave him behind on Gannaria, Ren supposed. The thought hurt more than it should have.

 _You should have told him_.

That young voice again.

Ren screamed and ignited his lightsaber.

* * *

Hux ignored the sound of absolute mayhem coming from the room behind him and placed a repair order for the conference room with a time delay of two standard hours. That would give Ren plenty of time to get his childishness out of his system and hopefully off of the ship.

_Less violent thoughts_ , he reminded himself. He frowned. Thinking of Ren as a _child_ wasn’t violent, per se, but it was certainly not complimentary. Hux would have to consider if it meant a breach of their newly minted contract, but for the time being he made to quickly amend the thought.

Little came to mind immediately until he recalled the moment he’d been made a General. It was the first time he’d met the Supreme Leader in person. He had stood alone before that _thing_ on its enormous throne. Hux had been a Colonel at the time, but after a lengthy conversation he had walked out the General of the First Order, not the only of his rank but the only one with the authority to command both Army and Navy.

Hux allowed that moment of triumph and pride to carry him to the bridge. All was quiet. It put Ren’s tantrum in shocking relief.

Phasma approached.

“Gannaria, sir?” she asked.

“Three squadrons ought to be sufficient,” Hux said. “Take any three you like, but keep them covert. Leave one additional team with Ren. He’s currently _occupied_.”

A sound came through Phasma’s visor that sounded suspiciously like a snort of laughter.

“Very well, General. I will report upon landing.”

Hux nodded at her once. Ren or no Ren, Phasma would get the job done.

A notification about the damages in CR5634 popped up on his datapad, and Hux swiped it away. Ren gave him such a headache, with his _visions_. Unless he intended to tell Hux what he’d seen, mentioning it at all was superfluous and idiotic.

Hux summoned the thought of himself staring down his first greatcoat with the General’s stripes on the sleeve by way of apology, half-hearted though it was.

Then again… Hux pursed his lips, staring straight ahead, unseeing. Ren had told him about a vision—something that he clearly thought to be important—but he had decided to go to Gannaria first.

He couldn’t be…

Hux took a breath. Ren wouldn’t hide anything from the Supreme Leader. He was slavishly devoted; he prostrate himself before that thing’s feet like some sort of lower beast.

 _You’re not_ , Hux thought, just in case. He acted it sometimes, but he wasn’t. He’d proved so much.

Why would he hesitate to tell Snoke? He’d had—two standard days, Hux realized, and that was the minimum. How long had he kept the information to himself? _Why_?

Three shuttles came into view heading to Gannaria. A fourth—Ren’s—followed quickly behind. He’d made quick work of his tantrum, then.

 _Good luck_ , Hux thought. If what he suspected was true, Ren would need it if he intended to survive.


End file.
